^STOR 


THE  STORM  CENTRE 


THE   STOEM    CENTRE 

A   NOVEL 


BY 


CHARLES  EGBERT    CRADDOCK 

AUTHOR  OP   "  THE  STORY  OP  OLD  FORT   LOUDON,"    "  A  SPECTRE 

OP    POWER,"    "  IN    THE    STRANGER-PEOPLE'S   COUNTRY," 

"  THE  PROPHET  OF  THE  GREAT  SMOKY  MOUNTAINS," 

"  WHERE   THE  BATTLE  WAS  FOUGHT,"   ETC. 


||0tfc 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1905 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1906, 
BT  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  June,  1905. 


J.  S.  Cashing  &  Co.  — Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


THE  STORM  CENTRE 


M527927 


THE  STOEM  CENTRE 

CHAPTER   I 

THE  place  reminded  him  then  and  later  of  the 
storm  centre  of  a  cyclone.  Outside  the  tempests 
of  Civil  War  raged.  He  could  hear,  as  he  sat  in 
the  quiet,  book-lined  room,  the  turbulent  drums 
fitfully  beating  in  tented  camps  far  down  the 
Tennessee  River.  Through  the  broad,  old-fash 
ioned  window  he  saw  the  purple  hills  opposite 
begin  to  glow  with  a  myriad  of  golden  gleams, 
pulsing  like  fireflies,  that  told  of  thousands  of 
troops  in  bivouac.  He  read  the  mystic  message 
of  the  signal  lights,  shining  with  a  different  lustre, 
moving  athwart  the  eminence,  then  back  again, 
expunged  in  blackness  as  a  fort  across  the  river 
flashed  out  an  answer.  A  military  band  was 
playing  at  headquarters,  down  in  the  night- 
begloomed  town,  and  now  and  again  the  great 
blare  of  the  brasses  came  widely  surging  on  the 
raw  vernal  gusts.  In  the  shadowy  grove  in  front 
of  this  suburban  home  his  own  battery  of  horse- 
artillery  was  parked.  It  had  earlier  made  its 
way  over  many  an  obstacle,  and,  oddly  enough, 
through  its  agency  he  was  recently  enabled  to 


2  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

penetrate  the  exclusive  reserve  of  this  Southern 
household,  always  hitherto  coldly  aloof  and 
averse  to  the  invader. 

He  had  chanced  to  send  a  pencilled  message  on 
his  card  to  the  mansion.  It  merely  expressed  a 
warning  to  lift  the  sashes  of  the  windows  during 
the  trial  practice  of  a  new  gun,  lest  in  the  firing 
the  glass  be  shattered  by  the  concussion  of  the  air. 
His  name  was  unusual,  and  seeing  it  on  the  card 
recalled  many  pleasant  reminiscences  to  the  mind 
of  old  Judge  Roscoe.  Another  "Fluellen  Bay- 
nell"  had  been  his  college  chum,  and  inquiry 
developed  the  fact  that  this  Federal  captain  of 
artillery  was  the  son  of  this  ancient  friend.  An 
interchange  of  calls  ensued.  And  here  sat  Cap 
tain  Baynell  in  the  storm  centre,  the  quiet  of 
evening  closing  in,  the  lamp  on  the  table  serenely 
aglow,  the  wood  fire  flashing  on  the  high  brass 
andirons  and  fender,  the  lion  delineated  on  the 
velvet  rug  respectfully  crouching  beneath  his  feet. 
But  in  this  suave  environment  he  was  beginning 
to  feel  somewhat  embarrassed,  for  the  old  colored 
servant  who  had  admitted  him  and  replenished 
the  fire,  and  whom  he  had  politely  greeted  as 
"  Uncle  Ephraim,"  in  deference  to  his  age,  now 
loitered,  volubly  criticising  the  unseen,  unknown 
inmates  of  the  house,  who  would  probably  over 
hear,  for  at  any  moment  the  big  oak  door  might 
usher  them  into  the  room. 

His  excuses  for  his  master's  delay  to  appear 
absorbed  but  little  time,  and  he  assiduously 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  3 

brushed  the  polished  stone  hearth  with  a  turkey 
wing  to  justify  his  lingering  in  conversation  with 
the  guest.  Unexpected  business  had  called  Judge 
Roscoe  to  the  town,  thus  preventing  him  from 
being  present  upon  the  arrival  of  Captain  Bay- 
nell,  invited  to  partake  of  tea  en  famille. 

"  But  den,  he  'lowed  dat  Miss  Leonora  —  dat's 
Mrs.  Gwynn,  his  niece,  a  widder  'oman  —  would 
be  ready,  but  Marster  mought  hev'  knowed  dat 
Miss  Leonora  ain't  never  ready  for  nuffin  till  day 
arter  ter-morrow  !  Den  dere's  de  ladies  —  dey 
hes  been  dressin'  fur  ye  fur  better  dan  an  hour. 
But  shucks !  de  ladies  is  so  vain  dat  dey  is  jus' 
ez  liable  ter  keep  on  dressin'  fur  anodder  hour 

yit!" 

This  was  indubitably  flattering  information  ; 
but  Captain  Baynell,  a  blond  man  of  thirty,  of 
a  military  stiffness  in  his  brilliant  uniform,  and 
of  a  most  uncompromising  dignity,  glanced  with 
an  uneasy  monition  at  the  door,  a  trifle  ajar.  He 
was  sensible,  notwithstanding,  of  an  unusually 
genial  glow  of  expectation.  The  rude  society  of 
camps  was  unacceptable  to  a  man  of  his  exacting 
temperament,  and,  the  sentiment  of  the  country 
being  so  adverse  to  the  cause  he  represented,  he 
had  had  scant  opportunities  here  to  enter  social 
circles  of  the  grade  that  would  elsewhere  have 
welcomed  him.  He  had  not  adequately  realized 
how  he  had  missed  these  refinements  and  felt  the 
deprivation  of  his  isolation  till  the  moment  of 
meeting  the  ladies  of  Judge  Roscoe's  household 


4  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

was  at  hand.  He  had  hardly  expected,  however, 
to  create  so  great  a  flutter  amongst  them,  and  he 
was  at  once  secretly  elated  and  disdainful. 

Although  a  stranger  to  the  ladies,  the  officer 
was  well  known  to  the  old  servant.  The  guns 
had  hardly  been  unlimbered  in  the  beautiful 
grove  in  front  of  the  house  ere  the  ancient  slave 
had  appeared  in  the  camp  to  express  his  ebullient 
patriotism,  to  thank  his  liberators  for  his  free 
dom, — -for  this  was  the  result  of  the  advance  of 
the  Federal  army,  a  military  measure  and  not  as 
yet  a  legal  enactment. 

Despite  his  exuberant  rhetoric,  there  was  some 
thing  tenuous  about  his  fervent  protestations,  and 
the  fact  that  he  still  adhered  to  his  master's 
service  suggested  a  devotion  to  the  old  regime 
incongruous  with  his  loudly  proclaimed  welcome 
of  the  new  day. 

«  Why  don't  you  leave  your  servitude,  then, 
Uncle  Ephraim  ?  "  one  of  the  younger  officers  had 
tentatively  asked  him. 

"  Dat  is  jes*  whut  I  say  I "  diplomatically  re 
plied  Uncle  Ephraim,  who  thus  came  to  be  called 
"  the  double-faced  Janus." 

Now  indeed,  instead  of  a  vaunt  of  liberty,  he 
was  disposed  to  apologize,  for  the  sake  of  the 
credit  of  the  house,  that  there  were  no  more  slaves 
to  make  a  braver  show  in  servitude. 

"Dey  ain't  got  no  butler  now,  —  he's  in  a 
restauroar  up  north,  —  nor  no  car'age  driver; 
dat  fool  nigger  went  off  wid  de  Union  army, 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  5 

an'  got  killed  in  a  scrimmage.  He  would  hev' 
stayed  wid  Marster,  dough,  if  de  Fed'ral  folks 
hedn't  tuk  de  bosses  off  wid  de  cavalry ;  he 
'lowed  he  wuz  too  lonesome  yere,  wid  jes'  nuffin' 
but  two-footed  cattle  ter  'sociate  wid." 

Once  more  he  whisked  the  turkey  wing  along 
the  clean,  smooth  hearth ;  then,  still  on  his  knees 
before  the  fire,  he  again  addressed  himself  to  the 
explanations  he  deemed  fit  as  to  the  reduced 
status  of  his  master's  household. 

"Me  an'  my  wife  is  all  de  servants  dey  got 
now  —  she's  Chaney,  de  cook  in  de  kitchen. 
Dey  hatter  scuse  me,  fur  I  never  waited  in  de 
house  afore.  No,  sah  !  jes'  a  wuckin'  hand ;  jes' 
a  cawnfield  hand,  out'n  de  cawnfield  straight ! " 

Whisk  went  the  turkey  wing. 

"  Dat's  whut  I  tell  Miss  Leonora,  —  dat's  Mrs. 
Gwynn,  de  widder  'oman,  Marster's  niece  whut's 
been  takin'  keer  ob  de  house  yere  sence  his 
wife  died,  —  I  say  I  dunno  no  better  when  I 
break  de  dishes,  an'  Miss  Leonora,  she  say  a  b'ar 
outer  a  holler  tree  would  know  better.  Yah ! 
yah ! " 

The  officer,  feeling  these  domestic  confidences 
a  burden,  began  to  scrutinize  with  an  appearance 
of  interest  the  Dresden  china  shepherd  and  shep 
herdess  at  either  end  of  the  tall  white  wooden 
mantelpiece,  and  then  the  clock  of  the  same  ware 
in  the  centre. 

Old  Janus  mistook  the  nature  of  his  motive. 
"  'Tis  gittin'  late  fur  shore  1  Gawd  !  dem  ladies 


6  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

is  a-dressin'  an'  a-dressin'  yit!  It's  a  pity  Miss 
Leonora  —  dat's  de  widder  'oman  —  don't  fix 
herself  up  some ;  looks  ole,  fur  true,  similar  to 
a  ole  gran'mammy  of  a  'oman.  But,  sah,  whut 
did  she  ever  marry  dat  man  fur  ?  " 

Captain  Baynell,  in  the  stress  of  an  unusual 
embarrassment,  rose  and  walked  to  one  of  the 
tall  bookcases,  affecting  to  examine  the  title  of  a 
long  row  of  books,  but  the  old  servant  was  not 
sensitive ;  he  resorted  to  the  simple  expedient  of 
raising  his  voice  to  follow  the  guest  in  a  detail 
that  brought  Captain  Baynell  back  to  his  chair 
in  unseemly  haste,  where  a  lower  tone  was  prac 
ticable. 

"  She  could  hev'  married  my  Marster's  son, 
Julius,  an'  him  de  flower  ob  de  flock !  But  no  ! 
She  jus'  would  marry  dis  yere  Gwynn  feller, 
whut  nobody  wanted  her  ter  marry,  an'  eloped 
wid  him  —  she  did  !  An5  shore  'nuff,  dey  do 
say  he  pulled  her  round  de  house  by  de  hair 
ob  her  head,  dough  some  'lows  he  jus'  bruk  a 
chair  ober  her  head  ! " 

The  officer  was  a  brave  man,  but  now  he  was 
in  the  extremity  of  panic.  What  if  some  one 
were  at  the  door  on  the  point  of  entering  ?  —  the 
"  widder  'oman  "  herself,  for  instance ! 

"  I  don't  need  you  any  longer,  Uncle  Ephraim," 
he  ventured  to  remonstrate. 

"I'm  gwine,  Cap'n,  jus'  as  soon  as  I  git 
through  wid  de  ha'th,"  and  Uncle  Ephraim  gave 
it  a  perfunctory  whisk. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  7 

He  interpolated  an  explanation  of  his  dili 
gence.  "I  don't  want  Miss  Leonora  —  dat's  de 
widder  'oman  —  ter  be  remarkin'  on  it.  Nobody 
kin  do  nuthin'  ter  suit  her  but  Chaney,  dis  cook 
dey  got,  who  belong  ter  Miss  Leonora,  an'  befo' 
de  War  used  ter  be  her  waitin'-'oman.  Chaney 
is  all  de  estate  Miss  Leonora  hes  got  lef,  —  an' 
ye  know  dat  sort  o'  property  ain't  wurf  much  in 
dis  happy  day  o'  freedom.  Miss  Leonora  wuz 
rich  once  in  her  own  right.  But  she  flung  her 
marriage-settlements  —  dat  dey  had  fixed  to  tie 
up  her  property  so  Gwynn  couldn't  sell  it  nor 
waste  it  —  right  inter  de  fiah  I  She  declared  she 
would  marry  a  man  whut  she  could  trust  wid  her 
fortune !  An',"  the  narrator  concluded  his  story 
impressively,  "  when  dat  man  died  —  his  horse 
thro  wed  him  an'  bruk  his  neck  —  I  wondered 
dey  didn't  beat  de  drum  fur  joy,  'twuz  sich  a 
crownin'  mercy !  But  he  hed  spent  all  her  for 
tune  'fore  he  went ! " 

The  whisking  wing  was  still ;  Uncle  Ephraim's 
eyes  dwelt  on  the  fire  with  a  glow  of  deep 
speculation.  He  lowered  his  voice  mysteri 
ously. 

« Dat  man  wuz  de  poorest  stuff  ter  make  an 
angel  out'n  ever  you  see !  I  dunno  whufs  become 
of  him." 

There  was  a  stir  outside,  a  footfall ;  and,  as 
Captain  Baynell  sprang  to  his  feet,  feeling  curi 
ously  guilty  in  receiving,  however  unwillingly, 
these  revelations  of  the  history  of  the  family, 


8  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

Judge  Roscoe  entered,  his  welcome  the  more 
cordial  and  expressed  because  he  noticed  a  cer 
tain  constraint  in  his  guest's  manner,  which  he 
ascribed  to  the  unintentional  breach  of  decorum 
in  the  failure  to  properly  receive  him. 

"  I  had  hoped  my  niece,  Mrs.  Gwynn,  might 
have  been  here  to  save  you  a  dull  half  hour,  or 
perhaps  my  granddaughters  —  where  are  the 
ladies  and  Mrs.  Gwynn,  Ephraim  ? "  he  broke 
off  to  ask  of  "  the  double-faced  Janus,"  scuttling 
out  with  his  basket  of  chips  and  his  turkey 
wing. 

"De  ladies  is  dressin*  ter  see  de  company," 
replied  Janus,  with  a  grin  wide  enough  to  deco 
rate  both  his  faces.  "  Miss  Leonora,  she  is  helpin' 
'em ! " 

Captain  Baynell  experienced  renewed  embar 
rassment,  but  Judge  Roscoe  laughed  with  obvious 
relish. 

The  host,  pale,  thin,  nervous,  old,  was  of  a 
type  ill  calculated  to  endure  the  stress  of  excite 
ment  and  turmoil  of  incident  of  the  Civil  War ; 
indeed,  he  might  have  succumbed  utterly  in  the 
mortality  of  the  aged,  so  general  at  that  period, 
but  for  the  incongruous  rest  and  inaction  of  the 
storm  centre.  The  town  was  heavily  garrisoned 
by  the  Federal  forces ;  the  firing  line  was  far 
afield.  He  had  two  sons  in  the  Confederate 
army,  but  too  distant  for  news,  for  speculation, 
for  aught  but  anxiety  and  prayer.  The  elder 
of  them  was  a  widower,  the  father  of  "the 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  9 

ladies,"  and  hence  in  his  absence  Judge  Roscoe's 
charge  of  his  granddaughters. 

The  phrase  "  the  ladies  and  Mrs.  Gwynn " 
grated  on  Captain  Baynell.  It  seemed  incon 
gruous  with  the  punctilious  old  Southern  gentle 
man  to  make  a  discourteous  distinction  thus 
between  his  granddaughters  and  his  niece.  Bay 
nell  dated  his  sympathy  with  her  from  that 
moment.  However  old  and  faded  and  reduced 
the  house-keeperish  «  widder  'oman  "  might  be, 
it  was  an  affront  to  thus  segregate  her.  He  felt 
an  antagonism  toward  "  the  ladies  "  in  their  ex 
clusive  aristocratic  designation  even  before  he 
heard  the  first  dainty  touch  of  their  slippered  feet 
upon  the  great  stairway,  or  a  gush  of  fairy  like 
treble  laughter.  As  a  silken  rustle  along  the 
hall  heralded  their  bedizened  approach,  he  arose 
ceremoniously  to  greet  them. 

The  door  flew  open  with  a  wide  swing;  his 
eyes  rested  on  nothing  beyond,  for  he  was  look 
ing  two  feet  over  range.  There  rushed  into  the 
room  three  little  girls,  six  and  eight  years  of  age, 
all  hanging  back  for  a  moment  till  their  grand 
father's  encouraging  "  Come,  ladies  !  "  nerved 
them  for  the  introduction  of  Captain  Baynell. 
Although  sensible  of  a  deep  disappointment  and 
a  sudden  cessation  of  interest  in  the  storm  cen 
tre,  he  could  hardly  refrain  from  laughing  at  the 
downfall  of  his  own  confident  expectations. 

Yet  « the  ladies,"  in  their  way,  were  well  worth 
looking  at,  and  their  diligent  care  of  their  toilette 


10  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

had  not  been  in  vain.  The  two  younger  ones 
were  twins,  very  rosy,  with  golden  hair,  deli 
cately  curled  and  perfumed.  The  other  was  far 
more  beautiful  than  either.  Her  hair  was  of  a 
chestnut  hue ;  her  dark  blue  eyes  were  eloquent 
with  meaning  —  "speaking  eyes."  She  had  an 
exquisitely  fair  complexion  and  an  entrancing 
smile,  and  amidst  the  twittering  words  and 
fluttering  laughter  of  the  others  she  was  silent ; 
it  was  a  sinister,  weighty,  significant  silence. 

"  A  deaf  mute,"  her  grandfather  explained  with 
a  note  of  pathos  and  pain. 

Captain  BaynelPs  acceptance  of  the  fact  had 
the  requisite  touch  of  sympathy  and  interest, 
but  no  more.  How  could  he  imagine  that  the 
child's  infirmity  could  ever  concern  him,  could 
be  a  factor  of  import  in  the  most  notable  crisis 
of  his  life ! 

Indeed,  he  might  have  forgotten  it  within  the 
hour  had  naught  else  riveted  his  attention  to  the 
house.  He  had  begun  to  look  forward  to  a  dull 
evening,  —  the  reaction  from  the  expectation  of 
charming  feminine  society  of  a  congenial  age. 
"The  ladies"  failed  in  that  particular,  lovely 
though  they  were  in  the  quaint  costumes  of  the 
day,  the  golden-haired  twins  respectively  in  faint 
blue  and  dark  red  "satin  faced"  merino,  the 
brown-haired  child  in  rich  orange.  Over  their 
bodices  all  three  wore  sheer  spencers  of  embroid 
ered  Swiss  muslin,  with  embroidered  ruffles  below 
the  waist  line.  This  was  encircled  with  silken 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  11 

sashes,  the  tint  of  their  gowns.  The  skirts  were 
short,  showing  long,  white,  clocked  stockings 
and  red  morocco  slippers  with  elastic  crossing 
the  instep.  The  trio  were  swift  in  making  ad 
vances  into  friendship,  and  soon  were  swarming 
about  the  officer,  counting  his  shining  buttons 
with  great  particularity,  and  squealing  with 
greedy  delight  when  an  unexpected  row  was 
discovered  on  the  seam  of  each  of  his  sleeves. 

As  the  door  again  opened,  the  very  aspect  of 
the  room  altered  —  a  new  presence  pervaded  the 
life  of  Fluellen  Baynell  that  made  the  idea  of 
strife  indeed  alien,  aloof ;  the  past  a  forgotten 
trifle ;  the  future  remote,  in  indifferent  abeyance, 
and  the  momentous  present  the  chief  experi 
ence  of  his  existence.  It  was  partially  the  effect 
of  surprise,  although  other  elements  exerted  a 
potent  influence. 

Instead  of  the  forlorn,  faded  "  widder  'oman  " 
of  his  fancy,  there  appeared  a  girlish  shape, 
whose  young,  fair  face  was  a  magnet  to  all  the 
romance  within  him.  What  mattered  it  with 
such  beauty  that  the  expression  was  a  dreary 
lassitude,  the  pose  indifference,  the  garb  a  shabby 
black  dress  worn  with  no  touch  of  distinction, 
no  thought,  no  care  for  appearances.  As  he  rose, 
with  "  the  ladies "  affectionately  clinging  about 
him,  and  bowed  low  in  the  moment  of  intro 
duction,  his  searching  eyes  discerned  every  mi 
nute  detail.  It  was  like  a  sun  picture  upon  his 
consciousness,  realized  and  fixed  in  his  mind  as 


12  THE  STORM  CENTRE 

if  he  had  known  it  forever.  And  with  a  sudden 
ignoble  recollection  his  face  flushed  from  his 
forehead  to  his  high  military  collar.  Was  it 
her  hair,  the  old  gossip  had  said,  or  was  it  a 
chair  ? 

It  was  impossible  to  look  at  her  without 
noticing  her  hair.  A  rich,  golden  brown,  it 
waved  back  from  her  white  brow  in  heavy  un 
dulations,  caught  and  coiled  in  a  great  glittering 
knot  at  the  back  of  her  head,  with  no  ornament, 
simplicity  itself.  Certainly,  he  reflected,  no 
preparations  were  in  progress  in  this  quarter  for 
his  captivation.  One  of  the  ready-made  crape 
collars  of  the  period  was  about  her  neck,  the 
delicate,  fine  contour  of  her  throat  displayed  by 
the  cut  of  her  dress.  Her  luminous  gray  eyes, 
with  their  long  black  lashes,  cast  upon  him  a 
mere  glance,  cool,  casual,  unfriendly,  it  might 
even  seem,  if  it  were  worth  her  languid  while. 

He  sought  to  win  her  to  some  demonstration 
of  interest  when  they  were  presently  at  table, 
with  old  Janus  skirmishing  about  the  dining 
room  with  a  silver  salver,  hindering  the  meal 
rather  than  serving  it.  Only  conventional  cour 
tesy  characterized  her,  although  she  gave  Baynell 
a  radiant  smile  when  offering  a  second  cup  of 
tea ;  an  official  smile,  so  to  speak,  strictly  apper 
taining  to  her  pose  as  hostess,  as  she  sat  behind 
the  massive  silver  tea  service  that  had  been  in 
the  Roscoe  family  for  many  years. 

She  left  the  conversation  almost  wholly  to  the 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  13 

gentlemen  when  they  had  returned  to  the  library. 
Quiescent,  inexpressive,  she  leaned  back  in  a 
great  arm-chair,  her  beautiful  eyes  fixed  reflec 
tively  on  the  fire.  The  three  "ladies,"  on  a 
small  sofa,  apparently  listened  too,  the  little 
dumb  girl  seeming  the  most  attentive  of  the  trio, 
to  the  half-hearted,  guarded,  diplomatic  discus 
sion  of  politics,  such  as  was  possible  in  polite 
society  to  men  of  opposing  factions  in  those 
heady,  bitter  days.  Only  once,  when  Baynell 
was  detailing  the  names  of  his  brothers  to 
gratify  Judge  Roscoe's  interest  in  the  family  of 
his  ancient  friend,  did  Mrs.  Gwynn  suggest  her 
individuality.  She  suddenly  rose. 

"  You  would  like  to  see  the  portraits  of  Judge 
Roscoe's  sons,"  she  said  as  definitely  as  if  he 
had  asked  this  privilege.  It  may  not  have  been 
the  fact,  but  Baynell  felt  that  she  was  making 
amends  to  the  absent  for  the  apostasy  of  "  enter 
taining  a  Yankee  officer,"  as  the  phrase  went  in 
that  day,  by  exhibiting  with  pride  their  cherished 
images  and  forcing  him  to  perform  polite  homage 
before  them. 

He  meekly  followed,  however,  as  she  took  from 
a  wide-mouthed  jar  on  the  table  a  handful  of 
tapers,  made  of  rolled  paper,  and,  lighting  one 
at  the  fire,  led  the  way  across  the  wide  hall  and 
into  the  cold,  drear  gloom  of  the  drawing-rooms. 
There  in  the  dim  light  from  the  hall  chandelier, 
shining  through  the  open  door,  she  flitted  from 
lamp  to  lamp,  and  instantly  there  was  a  chill, 


14  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

white  glitter  throughout  the  great  apartments, 
showing  the  floriated  velvet  carpets,  affected  at 
that  time,  the  carved  rosewood  furniture  up 
holstered  with  satin  damask  of  green  and  gold, 
the  lambrequins  of  a  harmonizing  brocade  and 
lace  curtains  at  the  windows,  the  grand  piano, 
and  marble-topped  tables,  and  on  the  walls  a 
great  inexpressive  mirror,  above  each  of  the 
white  marble  mantelpieces,  and  some  large  oil 
paintings,  chiefly  the  portraits  of  the  family. 

The  three  "  ladies  "  gathered  under  the  picture 
of  their  father  with  the  fervor  of  pilgrims  at  a 
votive  shrine.  Clarence  Roscoe's  portrait  seemed 
to  gaze  down  at  them  smilingly.  He  it  was 
who  had  given  his  little  daughters  their  quaint, 
formal  sobriquet  of  "the  ladies,"  the  phrase 
seriously  accepted  by  others,  until  no  longer 
recognized  as  a  nickname.  Suddenly  the  deaf 
mute  rushed  back  to  officiously  claim  the  officer's 
attention.  Her  brilliant  eyes  were  aglow ;  the 
fascination  of  her  smile  transfigured  her  face ; 
she  was  now  gazing  at  another  portrait.  This 
was  of  a  very  young  man,  extraordinarily  hand 
some,  in  full  Confederate  uniform,  and,  carrying 
her  hand  to  her  forehead  with  the  most  spirited 
air  imaginable,  she  gave  the  military  salute. 

"That  is  her  sign  for  Julius,"  cried  Mrs. 
Gwynn,  delightedly.  "  We  have  seen  many 
armies  with  banners,  but  Julius  is  her  ideal  of 
a  soldier,  and  the  only  one  in  all  the  world 
whom  she  distinguishes  by  the  military  salute." 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  15 

"  My  younger  son,"  explained  Judge  Roscoe  ; 
while  "the  ladies"  with  their  quick  transitions 
from  subject  to  subject  were  sidling  about  the 
rooms,  sinking  their  feet  as  deep  as  possible  into 
the  soft  pile  of  the  velvet  carpets,  and  feeling 
with  their  slim  fingers  the  rich  gloss  of  the  satin 
damask  coverings,  complacent  in  the  conscious 
ness  that  it  was  all  very  fine  and  revelling  in  a 
sense  of  luxury.  Poor  little  ladies  ! 

But  Mrs.  Gwynn  with  a  word  presently  sent 
them  scuttling  back  to  the  warmth  of  the  library. 
As  she  began  to  extinguish  the  lamps  Baynell 
offered  to  assist.  She  accepted  civilly,  of  course, 
but  with  the  unnoting,  casual  acquiescence  that 
had  begun  to  pique  him,  and  as  they  closed  the 
door  upon  the  shadowy  deserted  apartments  he 
thought  they  were  of  a  grewsome  favor,  that 
the  evening  was  of  an  untoward  drift,  and  he 
lingered  only  for  the  conventional  interval  after 
returning  to  the  library  before  he  took  his  leave. 

As  the  door  closed  after  him  he  noted  that 
the  stars  were  in  the  dark  sky.  The  wind  was 
laid.  The  lights  in  the  many  camps  had  all 
disappeared,  for  "  taps  "  had  sounded.  Now  and 
again  in  close  succession  he  heard  the  clocks  in 
divers  towers  in  Roanoke  City  striking  the  hour. 
There  was  no  token  of  military  occupation  in  all 
the  land,  save  that  from  far  away  on  a  turnpike 
toward  the  dark  west  came  the  dull  continuous 
roll  of  wagon  wheels  as  an  endless  forage  train 
made  its  way  into  the  town  ;  and  as  he  passed  out 


16  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

of  the  portico,  a  sentry  posted  on  the  gravelled 
drive  in  front  of  the  house  challenged  him.  He 
had  ordered  a  guard  to  be  stationed  there  for  its 
protection  against  wandering  marauders,  so  re 
mote  was  the  place.  He  gave  the  countersign, 
and  took  his  way  down  through  the  great  oak 
and  tulip  trees  of  the  grove  that  his  authority 
had  also  been  exerted  to  preserve.  His  father's 
old  friend  had  this  claim  upon  his  courtesy,  he 
felt,  for  century  oaks  cannot  be  replaced  in  a 
fortnight,  and  without  them  the  home  would 
indeed  be  bereft. 

Thinking  still  of  the  placid  storm  centre,  Leo 
nora  Gwynn's  face  was  continually  in  his  mind ; 
the  tones  of  her  voice  echoed  in  his  revery.  And 
then  suddenly  he  heard  his  step  ringing  on  the 
frosty  ground  with  a  new  spirit ;  he  felt  his 
finger  tips  tingle ;  his  face  glowed  with  rancor. 
The  man  was  dead,  and  this  indeed  was  well ! 
But  —  profane  thought !  was  it  her  hair  ?  her 
beautiful  hair  ?  «  The  coward  !  the  despicable 
villain ! "  he  called  aloud  between  his  set  teeth. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  next  day  naught  of  interest  would  Bay- 
nell  detail  of  his  venture  into  the  storm  centre. 
His  invitation  to  the  house  of  Judge  Roscoe, 
somewhat  noted  for  the  vigor  of  his  rebellious 
sentiments,  resentful,  implacable,  even  heady  in 
the  assumptions  of  his  age,  had  roused  the  curi 
osity  of  Baynell's  two  most  intimate  friends 
concerning  the  traits  of  that  secluded  inner  ex 
clusive  circle  which  only  the  accident  of  ancient 
association  had  enabled  him  to  penetrate.  In 
the  tedium  of  camp  routine  even  slight  matters 
were  of  interest,  and  it  was  the  habit  of  the 
three  to  compare  notes  and  relate  for  mutual 
entertainment  their  varied  experiences  since  last 
they  had  met. 

The  battery  of  six  pieces  which  Baynell  com 
manded  enjoyed  a  certain  renown  as  a  crack 
corps,  and  spectators  were  gathering  to  witness 
the  gun-drill,  —  a  number  of  soldiers  from  the  ad 
joining  cavalry  and  infantry  camps,  a  few  of  the 
railroad  hands  from  the  repair  work  on  a  neigh 
boring  track,  and  a  contingent  of  freedmen,  jubi 
lantly  idle.  Standing  a  little  apart  from  these 
w^as  a  group,  chiefly  mounted,  consisting  of  sev 
eral  officers  of  the  different  arms  of  the  service, 
c  17 


18  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

military  experts,  critically  observant,  among 
whom  was  Colonel  Vertnor  Ashley,  who  com 
manded  a  volunteer  regiment  of  horse,  and  a 
younger  man,  Lieutenant  Seymour  of  the  in 
fantry. 

It  was  a  fine  fresh  morning,  with  white  clouds 
scudding  across  a  densely  blue  sky  chased  by  the 
wind,  the  grass  springing  into  richer  verdure,  the 
buds  bourgeoning,  with  almost  the  effect  of  leaf 
lets  already,  in  the  great  oak  and  tulip  trees  of 
the  grove.  Daffodils  were  blooming  here  and 
there,  scattered  throughout  the  sward,  —  even 
beneath  the  carriages  of  the  guns  a  score  perhaps, 
untrampled  still,  reared  aloft  the  golden  «  candle 
sticks"  with  an  illuminating  effect.  The  warm 
sun  was  flashing  with  an  embellishing  glitter 
on  the  rows  of  the  white  tents  of  the  army  on 
the  hills  around  the  little  city  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.  The  deep,  broad  river,  here  and 
there  dazzling  with  lustrous  stretches  of  ripples, 
was  full  of  craft,  —  coal-barges,  skiffs,  gunboats, 
the  ordinary  steam-packets,  flatboats,  and  rafts; 
the  peculiar  dull  roar  of  a  railway  train  heavily 
laden,  transporting  troops,  came  to  the  ear  as 
the  engine,  shrieking  like  a  monster,  rushed  upon 
the  bridge  with  its  great  consignment  of  crowded 
humanity  in  the  long  line  of  box  cars,  an  addi 
tional  locomotive  assisting  the  speed  of  the  transit. 

"  Come  here,  Ashley,  and  see  if  you  can  make 
anything  of  Baynell,"  said  the  infantry  lieu 
tenant,  whose  regiment  lay  in  camp  a  little  to 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  19 

the  west,  as  the  colonel  reined  in  his  horse  under 
the  tree  where  Seymour  was  hanging  on  to  Bay- 
nell's  stirrup-leather.  «  He  hasn't  a  syllable  to 
say.  I  want  to  know  what  is  the  name  of  that 
pretty  girl  at  Judge  Roscoe's." 

Ashley  came  riding  up  with  his  inimitable 
pompous  swagger,  half  the  result  of  jocose  bra 
vado,  half  of  genuine  and  justifiable  vanity.  It 
went  very  well  with  the  suggestions  of  his  high 
cavalry  boots,  his  clanking  sword,  and  his  jin 
gling  spurs.  His  somewhat  broad  ruddy  face 
had  the  merit  of  a  sidelong  glance  of  great 
archness,  delivered  from  a  pair  of  vivacious  hazel 
eyes,  and  he  twirled  his  handsome,  long,  dark 
mustache  with  the  air  of  a  conqueror  at  the  very 
mention  of  a  pretty  girl. 

"  I  can  tell  you  more  about  Judge  Roscoe's 
family  than  Fluellen  Baynell  ever  will,"  Ashley 
declared  gayly.  "  So  ask  me  what  you  want  to 
know,  Mark,  and  don't  intrude  on  Nellie's  finical 
delicacy." 

Throughout  the  campaign  Colonel  Ashley's 
squadrons  had  cooperated  with  BaynelPs  artil 
lery.  The  officers  had  come  to  know  and  re 
spect  each  other  well  in  the  stress  of  danger  and 
mutual  dependence.  It  may  be  doubted  whether 
any  other  man  alive  could  with  impunity  have 
called  Fluellen  Baynell  «  Nellie." 

Baynell  was  in  full  uniform,  splendidly  mounted, 
awaiting  the  hour  appointed,  and  now  and  again 
casting  his  eye  on  the  camp  "street"  at  some 


20  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

distance,  the  stable  precincts  all  a  turmoil  of 
hurrying  drivers  and  artillerymen  harnessing 
horses  and  adjusting  accoutrements,  while  a  con 
tinuous  hum  of  voices,  jangling  of  metal,  and 
tramping  of  steeds  came  on  the  air.  He  with 
drew  his  attention  with  an  effort. 

"Why,  what  do  you  want  me  to  tell?"  he 
demanded  sarcastically ;  —  "  what  they  had  for 
supper  ? " 

«  No  —  no  —  but  just  be  neighborly.  For 
sheer  curiosity  I  want  to  know  his  daughter's 
name,"  persisted  the  lieutenant  of  infantry. 

"  Judge  Roscoe  has  no  daughter,"  replied  Bay- 
nell. 

"  His  granddaughter,  then." 

"His  granddaughters  are  children  —  I  have 
forgotten  their  names." 

"Well,  who  is  that  young  lady  there?  —  a 
beauty  of  beauties.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
at  the  window  the  day  we  pitched  our  camp  in 
the  peach  orchard  over  there." 

"She  is  the  most  beautiful  girl  I  have  ever 
seen,"  solemnly  declared  Ashley,  who  had  artis 
tic  proclivities.  "  I  never  saw  a  face  like  that 
—  such  chiselling,  so  perfect  —  unless  it  were 
some  fine  antique  cameo.  It  has  the  contour, 
the  lines,  the  dignity,  of  a  Diana  !  And  her  hair 
is  really  exquisite !  Who  is  she,  Fluellen  ?" 

Baynell  was  conscious  of  the  constraint  very 
perceptible  in  his  voice  as  he  replied,  "  She  is 
Judge  Roscoe's  niece,  Mrs.  Gwynn." 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  21 

Ashley  stared.  "  Mrs. !  Why,  she  doesn't 
look  twenty  years  old ! "  Then,  with  sudden 
illumination,  "  Why  —  that  must  be  the  <  widder 
9 oman  ! '"  with  an  unctuous  imitation  of  old 
Ephraim's  elocution.  "I  am  surprised.  Mrs. 
Gwynn  !  <  De  widder  'oman  ! '"  He  broke  off 
to  laugh  at  a  sudden  recollection. 

"I  wish  you  could  have  heard  old  Janus's 
account  of  his  effort  to  clean  the  knives  to  suit 
her.  She  seems  to  be  in  command  of  the  com 
missariat  up  there.  The  old  darkey  came  into 
camp,  searching  for  the  methods  of  polishing 
metals  that  the  soldiers  use  for  their  accoutre 
ments.  <  Brilliancy  without  labor,'  was  Uncle 
Ephraim's  desideratum.  I  gave  him  some  rotten- 
stone.  His  sketch  of  how  the  judgment  day 
would  overtake  him  still  polishing  knives  for 
the  <  widder  'oman'  was  worth  hearing." 

Baynell  would  not  have  so  considered  it — thus 
far  apart  were  the  friends. in  prejudice  and  tem 
perament.  Yet  there  was  no  derogation  in  the 
simple  gossip.  To  the  campaigners  the  Roscoe 
household  was  but  the  temporary  incident  of 
the  mental  landscape,  and  the  confidential  bit 
of  criticism  and  comment  served  only  to  make 
conversation  and  pass  the  time. 

All  of  Vertnor  Ashley's  traits  were  on  a  broad 
scale,  genial  and  open.  He  had  the  best  opinion 
imaginable  of  himself,  and  somehow  the  world 
shared  it  —  so  ingratiating  was  his  joviality. 
His  very  defects  were  obviated  and  went  for 


22  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

naught.  Although,  being  only  of  middle  height, 
his  tendency  to  portliness  threatened  the  grace  of 
his  proportions,  he  was  esteemed  a  fine  figure  and 
a  handsome  man.  He  made  a  brave  show  in  the 
saddle,  and  was  a  magnificent  presentment  of  a 
horseman.  He  was  a  poor  drill ;  his  discipline 
was  lax,  for  he  dearly  loved  popularity  and  fos 
tered  this  incense  to  his  vanity.  He  was  adored 
in  his  regiment,  and  he  never  put  foot  in  stirrup 
to  ride  in  or  out  of  camp  that  even  this  casual 
appearance  was  not  cheered  to  the  echo.  "  That 
must  be  Vert  Ashley,  or  a  rabbit ! "  was  a  usual 
speculation  upon  the  sound  of  sudden  shouting, 
for  the  opportunity  to  chase  a  rabbit  was  a 
precious  break  in  the  monotony  of  the  life  of 
the  rank  and  file. 

Baynell's  coming  and  going,  on  the  contrary, 
was  greeted  with  no  demonstration.  He  was  a 
rigid  disciplinarian.  He  exacted  every  capacity 
for  work  that  the  men  possessed,  and  his  bat 
tery  was  one  of  the  most  efficient  of  the  horse 
artillery  in  the  service.  But  when  it  came  to 
the  test  of  battle,  the  cannoneers  could  not  shout 
loud  and  long  enough.  They  were  sure  of  fine 
execution  and  yet  of  careful  avoidance  of  the 
reckless  sacrifice  of  their  lives  and  the  capture 
of  their  guns,  often  returning,  indeed,  from 
action,  covered  with  glory,  having  lost  not  one 
man,  not  so  much  as  a  sponge-staff.  So  fine  an 
officer  could  well  dispense  with  the  arts  that 
fostered  popularity  and  ministered  to  vanity. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  23 

Thus  the  slightest  peccadillo  made  the  offender 
and  the  wooden  horse  acquaint. 

None  of  Baynell's  qualities  were  of  the  jovial 
order.  He  was  a  martinet,  a  technical  expert 
in  the  science  of  gunnery,  a  stern  and  martial 
leader  of  men.  His  mind  was  an  orderly  as 
similation  of  valuable  information,  his  con 
sciousness  a  repelling  exclusive  assortment  of 
sensitive  fibres.  He  had  a  high  and  exacting 
moral  sense,  and  his  pride  of  many  various  kinds 
passed  all  bounds.  He  listened  with  aghast  dis 
may  to  the  story  of  Mrs.  Gwynn's  unhappy 
married  life  that  Ashley  rehearsed, —  the  ordi 
nary  gossip  of  the  day,  to  be  heard  everywhere, 
— and  then  a  discussion  took  place  as  to  whether 
or  not  the  horse  that  killed  her  husband  were 
the  vicious  charger  now  ridden  by  the  colonel 
of  a  certain  regiment. 

"  It  couldn't  be,"  said  Ashley,  "that  happened 
nearly  a  year  ago." 

This  talk  hung  on  for  a  long  time,  as  it  seemed 
to  Baynell.  Yet  he  did  not  welcome  its  conclusion, 
for  a  greater  source  of  irritation  was  to  come. 

"  But  now  that  you  have  a  footing  there, 
Fluellen,  I  want  you  to  introduce  me,"  said 
Colonel  Ashley,  who  was  a  person  of  considera 
tion  in  high  and  select  circles  at  home,  and 
spoke  easily  from  the  vantage-ground  of  an  ac 
knowledged  social  position.  "  I  should  be  glad 
to  meet  Mrs.  Gwynn.  I  never  saw  any  one  whose 
appearance  so  impressed  me." 


24  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"  Take  me  with  you  when  you  two  call,"  the 
lieutenant,  all  unprescient,  interjected  casually. 
The  next  moment  he  was  flushing  angrily,  for, 
impossible  as  it  seemed,  Baynell  was  declining 
in  set  terms. 

"My  footing  there  would  not  justify  me  in 
asking  to  introduce  my  friends,"  he  said.  «  I 
should  be  afraid  of  a  refusal." 

Ashley,  too,  cast  a  swift,  indignant  glance  upon 
him.  Then,  « I'll  risk  it,"  he  said  easily  ;  for  ill- 
humor  with  him  was  "  about  face  "  so  suddenly 
that  it  was  hardly  to  be  recognized. 

Baynell  showed  a  stiff  distaste  for  the  persist 
ence,  but  maintained  his  position. 

"  Judge  Roscoe  made  it  plain  that  it  was  only 
for  the  sake  of  his  friendship  with  my  father  that 
he  offered  any  civility  to  me  —  no  concession  po 
litically.  My  status  as  an  officer  of  the  <  Yankee 
army'  is  an  offence  and  a  stumbling-block  to 
him." 

«  Bless  his  fire-eating  soul !  I  don't  want  to 
convert  him  from  his  treason.  I  desire  only  to 
call  on  the  lady." 

"  I  myself  could  not  call  on  Mrs.  Gwynn,"  pro 
tested  Baynell.  "She  hardly  spoke  a  word  to 
me." 

"  It  will  be  quite  sufficient  for  her  to  listen  to 
me,"  laughed  Ashley. 

"  She  took  only  the  most  casual  notice  of  my 
presence  —  barely  to  give  me  a  cup  of  tea." 

"Now,  Baynell,"  said  the  lieutenant,  exceed- 


THE  STORM   CENTRE  25 

ingly  wroth.  "  I  want  you  to  understand  that  I 
take  this  very  ill  of  you." 

He  was  a  tall,  spare  young  fellow,  with  light, 
straight  brown  hair,  a  light-brown  mustache, 
and  a  keen,  excitable  blue  eye,  which  showed 
well-opened  and  alert  from  under  the  dark  brim 
of  his  cap  as  he  looked  upward,  still  standing  at 
the  side  of  Baynell's  restive  horse.  "  I  think  it  a 
very  poor  return  for  similar  courtesy.  I  took  you 
with  me  to  call  on  Miss  Fisher  —  and  —  " 

"This  is  a  very  different  case.  I,  personally, 
am  not  on  terms  with  Mrs.  Gwynn.  Besides,  she 
is  very  different  from  Miss  Fisher,  who  enter 
tains  general  society.  Mrs.  Gwynn  is  a  widow 
—  in  deep  mourning." 

"But  it  is  told  in  Gath  that  widows  are  not 
usually  inconsolable,"  suggested  Ashley,  with  a 
brightening  of  his  arch  eyes,  and  still  laughing 
it  off. 

"I  am  much  affronted,  Captain  Baynell," 
declared  the  irascible  lieutenant.  "  I  consider 
this  personal.  And  I  will  get  even  with  you  for 
this !  " 

"  And  I  will  get  an  introduction  to  Mrs.  Gwynn 
without  your  kind  offices,"  declared  Ashley,  with 
a  jocular  imitation  of  their  young  friend's  indig 
nant  manner. 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  if  you  can  meet  her  in 
any  appropriate  way.  It  is  not  appropriate  for 
me,  cognizant  of  their  ardent  rebel  sympathies 
and  intense  antagonism  to  the  Union  cause  and 


26  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

antipathy  to  all  its  supporters,  to  ask  to  introduce 
my  friends  of  the  invading  <  Yankee  army,' " 
Baynell  replied  with  stiff  hauteur. 

Just  then  the  bugle  sang  out,  its  mandatory, 
clear,  golden  tones  lifting  into  the  sunshine  with 
such  a  full  buoyant  effect  that  it  was  like  the 
very  spirit  of  martial  courage  transmuted  into 
sound.  Baynell  instantly  put  his  horse  into  mo 
tion,  and  rode  off  through  the  brilliant  air  and  the 
sparse  shadows  of  the  budding  trees.  His  blond 
hair  and  mustache,  gilded  by  the  sunlight,  had  as 
decorative  an  effect  as  his  gold  lace ;  his  blue 
eyes  glittered  with  a  stern,  vigilant  light ;  his 
face  was  flushed,  something  unusual,  for  he  was 
wont  to  be  pale,  and  his  erect,  imposing,  soldierly 
figure  sat  his  spirited  young  charger  with  the 
firmness  of  a  centaur.  The  eyes  of  all  the  group 
followed  him,  several  commenting  on  his  hand 
some  appearance,  his  fine  bearing,  his  splendid 
horse,  and  his  great  value  as  an  officer. 

« He  is  an  admirable  fellow,"  declared  Dr. 
Grindley,  a  surgeon  on  his  way  to  the  hospital 
hard  by.  He  had  paused  at  a  little  distance, 
and  had  not  heard  the  conversation. 

"  If  he  were  not  such  a  prig,"  Ashley  assented 
dubiously.  "Such  an  uncompromising  stickler 
on  trifles !  Any  other  man  in  the  world  would 
have  slurred  the  matter  over,  and  never  kept  the 
promise  of  the  introduction.  If  inconvenient  or 
undesirable,  he  might  have  postponed  the  call 
indefinitely."  • 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  27 

"He  is  a  most  confounded  prig,"  said  Lieuten 
ant  Seymour,  in  great  irritation. 

"Baynell  must  have,  everything  out  —  to  the 
bitter  end,"  said  Ashley. 

"  I'd  like  to  break  his  head  !  I'd  like  to  break 
his  face — with  my  fist,"  exclaimed  the  lieutenant, 
petulantly,  clenching  his  hand  again  and  again. 
He  detailed  the  tenor  of  the  conversation  to  the 
surgeon  as  the  group  watched  the  manoeuvring 
battery.  «  Isn't  that  a  dog-in-the-manger-ish  trick, 
Dr.  Grindley?  He  wants  to  keep  his  Roscoes  to 
himself.  Mrs.  Gwynn  won't  speak  to  him,  and 
so  he  wants  nobody  else  to  go  there  whom  she 
might  speak  to  ! " 

Baynell,  still  uncomfortably  conscious  of  the 
rancor  he  had  roused,  had  taken  his  position  in 
the  centre,  just  the  regulation  twelve  paces  in 
front  of  the  leading  horses,  with  the  music  four 
paces  distant  from  the  right  of  the  first  gun.  As 
the  sound  blared  out  gayly  on  the  crisp,  clear, 
vernal  breeze,  the  glittering  ranks,  every  soldier 
mounted  on  a  strong,  fresh  steed,  moved  forward 
swiftly,  with  the  gun-carriages  and  caissons  each 
drawn  by  a  team  of  six  horses.  The  air  was  full 
of  the  tramp  of  hoofs  and  the  clangor  of  heavy, 
revolving  wheels,  ever  and  anon  punctuated  by 
the  sharp  monition,  "  Obstacle ! "  as  one  of  the 
giant  oaks  of  the  grove  intervened  and  the  direc 
tion  of  the  march  of  a  piece  was  obliqued.  The 
efficiency  of  the  battery  was  very  evident.  The 
drill  was  almost  perfect,  despite  the  difficulty  of 


28  THE  STORM  CENTRE 

manoeuvring  among  the  trees.  But  when  the 
ranks  passed  from  the  grove  they  swept  like  a 
whirlwind  over  the  open  spaces  of  the  adjoin 
ing  pasture-lands,  the  whole  battery  swinging 
here  and  there  in  sharp  turns,  never  losing  the 
prescribed  intervals  of  the  relative  distance  of 
squads,  and  guns,  and  caissons  —  all  like  some 
single  intricate  piece  of  connected  mechanism, 
impossible  of  disassociation  in  its  several  parts. 
Ever  and  anon  the  clear  tenor  tones  of  the  cap 
tain  rang  out  with  a  trumpet-like  effect,  and  the 
refrain  of  the  subalterns  and  non-commissioned 
officers  commanding  the  sections  followed  in 
their  various  clamors,  while  the  great  whirling 
congeries  of  horses  and  men  and  wheels  and 
guns  obeyed  the  sound  like  some  automatic  crea 
tion  of  the  ingenuity  of  man.  Once  the  surgeon 
bent  an  attentive  ear. 

"  By  sections  —  break  from  the  right  to  march 
to  left ! "  called  the  commander,  with  a  sudden 
«  catch  "  in  the  tones. 

"  Caissons  forward  !  Trot !  March ! "  came 
from  a  different  voice. 

"Section  forward,  guide  left!"  thundered  a 
basso  profundo. 

"  March ! "  cried  the  captain,  sharply. 

"  March  ! "  came  the  subaltern's  echo. 

As  the  moving  panorama  turned  and  wheeled 
and  shifted,  the  surgeon  commented  in  a  spirit 
of  forecast :  — 

«  If  that  fellow  doesn't  pay  some  attention  to 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  29 

his  bronchial  tubes,  they  will  pay  some  attention 
to  him,  and  that  promptly." 

So  promptly  indeed  was  this  prophecy  verified 
that  within  the  next  few  days  old  Ephraim,  who 
purveyed  all  the  news  of  the  period  to  the  remote 
secluded  country  house,  informed  Judge  Roscoe 
that  Captain  Baynell  was  seriously  ill  with  bron 
chitis  and  threatened  with  pneumonia.  In  order 
to  have  indoor  protection  and  treatment  he  was 
to  be  removed  as  soon  as  possible  to  the  hospital 
near  the  town.  Judge  Roscoe  verified  this  rumor 
upon  hastening  to  camp,  and  with  hospitable 
warmth  he  invited  the  son  of  his  old  schoolmate 
to  sojourn  instead  in  his  house  ;  for  in  the  college 
days  to  which  he  was  fond  of  recurring  he  had 
been  taken  into  the  home  of  the  elder  Fluellen 
Baynell,  and  nursed  by  his  friend's  mother  through 
a  typhoid  attack.  To  repay  the  obligation  thus 
was  peculiarly  acceptable  to  a  man  of  his  type. 
But  Baynell  hardly  heeded  the  detail  of  the  hos 
pitable  precedent.  He  needed  no  persuasion,  and 
thereafter  he  seemed  more  than  ever  lapsed  in 
the  serenities  of  the  storm  centre,  ensconced  in 
one  of  the  great  square  upper  bedrooms,  with  the 
spare  furnishing  of  heavy  mahogany  that  gave  an 
idea  of  so  much  space,  the  order  of  the  day  when 
the  plethora  of  decoration,  the  "cosy  corner," 
the  wall  pocket,  the  "  art  drapery,"  the  crowded 
knickknackery,  did  not  obtain.  For  more  than 
a  week  Baynell  could  not  rise ;  the  surgeon 
visited  him  at  regular  intervals,  and  Judge  Roscoe 


30  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

appeared  unfailingly  each  morning  in  the  sick 
room ;  but  the  rest  of  the  family  remained  invis 
ible,  and  held  unsympathetically  aloof. 

This  was  a  shrewd  loss  to  Ashley,  for  although 
he  had  called  at  first  with  genuine  anxiety  as  to 
his  friend's  state,  the  humors  of  the  situation  ap 
pealed  to  him  as  time  wore  on,  and  he  recollected 
with  the  enhanced  interest  of  enforced  idleness 
his  boast  that  he  would  compass  an  introduction 
to  Mrs.  Gwynn,  despite  Baynell's  stiff  refusal. 
Seymour  still  resented  the  circumstance  so  seri 
ously  that  he  had  withheld  all  manifestations  of 
sympathy  or  concern,  and  this,  the  kind  Ashley 
considered,  carried  the  matter  much  too  far.  He 
thought  it  might  effect  a  general  reconciliation  if 
he  should  meet  Mrs.  Gwynn  by  accident,  when  he 
fancied  he  would  not  fear  to  introduce  any  one 
whom  he  considered  fit  for  good  society.  Thus, 
after  he  had  ceased  to  be  apprehensive  concerning 
Baynell's  condition,  he  called  on  him  again  and 
again,  but  hearing  never  a  light  footfall  on  the 
stair  or  the  flutter  of  flounces  that  might  promise 
a  realization  of  his  quest.  He  was  all  uncon 
scious  that  his  project  had  an  unwitting  ally  in 
Judge  Roscoe  himself.  For  more  than  once  Judge 
Roscoe  was  uncomfortably  visited  by  hospitable 
monitions. 

"  I  should  have  liked  to  ask  Colonel  Ashley  to 
dine  with  us,"  he  said  tentatively  to  Mrs.  Gwynn. 
«  He  was  leaving  the  house  just  as  the  meal  was 
being  served.  Old  Ephraim  —  confound  the  old 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  31 

fellow  —  has  no  sort  of  tact.  He  brought  in  the 
soup  to  Captain  Baynell  with  Colonel  Ashley 
sitting  by  the  bedside  !  It  was  indeed  a  hint  to 
beat  a  retreat.  I  was — I  was  mortified.  I  was 
really  mortified  not  to  ask  him  to  stay." 

"  Heavens,  Uncle  Gerald  !  —  what  are  you 
dreaming  about  ?  Ask  people  to  dine,  and 
no  trained  servant  to  wait  on  the  table  —  and 
this  china  —  and  the  ladies  in  their  pinafores  ! " 
And  Mrs.  Gwynn  glanced  scoffirigly  around  the 
domestic  board,  for  the  place  had  once  been 
famous  for  the  elegance  of  its  entertainments ; 
but  the  balls,  the  "wine  suppers,"  the  formal 
late  dinners  of  many  courses,  had  come  to  an 
end  with  the  conclusion  of  the  period  of  pros 
perity,  and  the  perfectly  trained  service  had 
vanished  with  the  vanishing  butler  and  his  corps 
of  assistants  whom  he  himself  had  rigorously 
drilled  in  the  school  of  the  pantry,  in  strict 
accordance  with  old  traditions. 

"  Well,  we  have  better  china,"  said  the  judge, 
inexorably.  "  And  the  pinafores  don't  grow  on 
the  ladies;  we  have  excellent  precedent  for  be 
lieving  they  can  be  dispensed  with." 

Mrs.  Gwynn  fixed  him  with  a  resolute  eye.  "  I 
don't  intend  to  have  the  ladies  taken  from  their 
studies  in  the  forenoon  to  dress  for  company  and 
distract  their  minds  with  fascinating  gentlemen. 
Besides  it  is  too  great  a  compliment  to  receive  an 
absolute  stranger  informally,  as  one  of  ourselves, 
—  as  we  treat  Captain  Baynell, — and  it  is  almost 


32  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

impossible  to  entertain  Colonel  Ashley  otherwise. 
You  forget  that  we  have  no  trained  servants. 
And  I  am  not  going  to  trust  the  handling  of 
my  aunt's  beautiful  old  Sevres  dinner  set  to 
our  inexperienced  factotum  —  oh,  the  idea ! 
It  makes  me  shudder  to  think  of  the  nicks 
and  smashings.  It  ought  to  be  kept  intact  for 
Julius's  wife  when  he  takes  one,  or  for  Clarence's 
if  he  should  ever  marry  again.  A  stray  Yankee 
officer  isn't  sufficient  justification  for  risking  it." 

"  He  has  called  so  often,  and  has  been  so  kind 
to  Captain  Baynell." 

"  Well,  so  have  I  been  kind  to  Captain  Baynell, 
and  here  am  I  eating  on  the  everyday  china 
—  no  Sevres  for  me !  And  I  am  going  to  be 
kinder  still,  for  he  is  allowed  to  have  some  dessert 
to-day,  and  I  have  spread  this  tray  with  mine 
own  hands." 

She  touched  a  call-bell,  and,  as  old  Janus 
appeared,  "  Take  this  tray  upstairs  to  Captain 
Baynell,"  she  said,  as  she  transferred  it,  "be 
careful  —  don't  tilt  it  so ! "  Then,  as  the  old 
servant  left  the  room,  she  resumed,  addressing 
Judge  Roscoe:  "You  can  sentimentalize  about 
your  precious  Captain  Baynell,  if  you  like,  on  the 
score  of  old  friendship.  I  can  appreciate  the 
claims  of  old  friendship,  especially  as  he  has  been 
so  ill,  and  possibly  was  better  off  here  than  at 
the  hospital.  But  to  go  in  generally  for  enter 
taining  Yankee  officers,  —  and  all  our  near  and 
dear  out  yonder  in  those  cold  wet  trenches,  half 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  33 

starved,  and  ragged,  and  wounded,  and  dying, — 
indeed,  no !  For  my  own  part,  I  couldn't  be  in 
duced  to  spread  a  board  for  another  one,  except 
at  the  point  of  the  bayonet." 

"  Colonel  Ashley  don't  wear  no  bayonet,"  inter 
posed  Adelaide,  glibly. 

"  He's  got  him  a  sword,"  acceded  Geraldine. 

"  A  long  sword,  clickety-clank,"  suggested  the 
first  "  lady." 

"Clickety,  clickety-clank,"  echoed  the  other, 
with  brightening  eyes. 

"  Don't  eat  with  your  fingers  —  nor  the  spoon  ; 
take  the  fork."  Mrs.  Gwynn's  admonitory  aside 
was  hardly  an  interruption. 

"That  is  a  very  narrow  view,  Leonora,"  the 
judge  contended.  "  There  can  be  no  parity  be 
tween  the  fervor  of  convictions  on  the  issues  of 
a  great  national  question  and  merely  human  pre 
dilections  as  between  individuals.  Patriotism  is 
not  license  for  rancor.  I  have  shown  my  devotion 
to  the  Southern  cause.  I  have  risked  the  lives  of 
my  dear,  dear  sons.  I  have  expended  much  in 
its  interests ;  I  have  endangered  and  lost  my  for 
tune.  The  future  of  all  I  hold  dear  is  in  jeop 
ardy  in  many  aspects.  But  I  do  not  feel  bound 
for  that  reason  to  hate  individually  every  fellow- 
creature  who  has  opposite  convictions,  to  which 
he  has  a  right,  and  takes  up  arms  to  sustain 
them." 

"  Well  —  I  do  f  Being  a  woman,  and  having 
no  reasoning  capacities,  there  is  no  necessity  for 


34  THE   STOKM   CENTRE 

me  to  be  logical  on  the  subject.  I  feel  what  I 
feel,  without  qualification.  And  I  know  what 
I  know  without  either  legal  proof  or  ocular 
demonstration.  You  are  welcome  to  your  intel 
lect,  Uncle  Gerald  !  Much  good  may  it  do  you  ! 
Intuition  is  enough  for  me.  Meantime  the  Sevres 
is  safe  on  the  shelves." 

Beaten  from  the  field  as  Judge  Roscoe  must 
needs  be  when  his  vaunted  ratiocination  was  no 
available  weapon,  he  held  stanchly  nevertheless 
to  his  own  opinion,  helpless  though  he  was  in 
the  domestic  administration.  He  adopted  such 
measures  as  were  practicable  to  comport  with 
his  own  view.  Flattered  by  Ashley's  interest  in 
Baynell  and  recognizant  of  the  frequency  of  his 
visits,  never  dreaming  that  a  glimpse  of  Mrs. 
Gwynn  was  their  ultimate  object,  he  took 
occasion  to  offer  him  such  slight  courtesies  as 
opportunity  presented. 

One  day  when  they  were  descending  the  stairs 
Judge  Roscoe  chanced  to  comment  on  the  fine 
bouquet  of  a  certain  choice  old  wine.  He  still 
hoarded  a  few  costly  bottles  of  an  ancient  im 
portation,  and  with  a  sudden  thought  he  insisted 
on  pausing  in  the  library  to  take  a  glass  and 
finish  a  discussion  happily  begun  by  the  in 
valid's  bedside.  The  room  was  vacant,  as  the 
colonel's  keen  glance  swiftly  assured  him,  and 
the  judge's  order  for  wine  was  inaugurated 
through  the  bell-cord,  which  jangling  summons 
old  Ephraim  answered  somewhat  procrastinat- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  35 

ingly.  The  expression  of  surprise  in  the  old 
darkey's  eyes,  even  admonitory  dissuasion,  as  he 
hearkened  to  the  demand,  very  definitely  nettled 
the  judge  and  secretly  amused  Ashley,  who 
divined  the  old  servitor's  doubts  as  to  gaining 
the  permission  of  "de  widder  'oman."  The 
host  was  more  relieved  than  he  cared  to  ac 
knowledge  to  himself  when  the  factotum  pres 
ently  reappeared,  bearing  a  tray,  with  the  old- 
fashioned  red-and-white  Bohemian  wine-glasses 
and  decanter  which  contained  the  rare  vintage, 
and  he  felt  with  a  sigh  that  he  was  still  su 
preme  in  his  own  house,  despite  the  sway  of 
Mrs.  Gwynn.  He  recognized  the  more  gratefully, 
however,  her  influence  in  the  perfection  of  the 
service  and  the  solemnly  careful,  preternaturally 
watchful  step  of  old  Ephraim,  as  he  bore  about 
the  delicate  glass  with  all  the  effect  of  treading 
on  eggs,  —  finally  depositing  it  on  the  table  and 
withdrawing  at  his  habitual  plunging  gait. 

Although  Ashley  dawdled  as  he  listened  and 
sipped  his  wine  languorously,  no  rustle  of  dra 
peries  rewarded  his  attentive  ear,  no  graceful 
presence  gladdened  his  expectant  eye.  And  when 
at  last  he  could  linger  no  longer,  he  took  up 
his  hope  even  as  he  had  laid  it  down,  in  the 
expectation  of  a  luckier  day. 

"  Come  again,  my  dear  sir,  whenever  you  can. 
I  am  always  glad  to  see  you,  and  your  presence 
cheers  Captain  Baynell.  His  father  was  my 
dearest  friend.  I  felt  his  death  as  if  he  had  been 


36  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

a  brother.  I  have  grown  greatly  attached  to  his 
son,  who  closely  resembles  him.  Anything  you 
can  do  for  Captain  Baynell  I  appreciate  as  a 
personal  favor.  Come  again !  Come  again  soon ! " 
Perhaps  if  Colonel  Ashley  had  not  been  so  be 
reft  of  the  normal  interests  of  life,  in  this  interval 
of  inactivity,  his  curiosity  as  to  that  fleeting 
glimpse  of  a  beautiful  woman  might  not  have 
maintained  its  whetted  edge.  Perhaps  constantly 
recurrent  disappointment  roused  his  persistence. 
He  came  again  and  yet  again,  and  still  he  saw  no 
member  of  the  family  save  Judge  Roscoe.  Even 
the  surgeon  commented.  "  There  is  a  consider 
able  feminine  garrison  up  there,"  he  said  one 
day ;  "  I  often  hear  mention  of  the  ladies,  but 
they  never  make  a  sally.  I  suspect  the  old 
judge  is  more  of  a  fire-eater  than  he  shows  now 
adays,  for  his  womenfolks  are  evidently  straight- 
out  <  Secesh '  1 " 


CHAPTER   III 

CAPTAIN  BAYNELL  himself,  throughout  his  ill 
ness,  saw  naught  of  the  feminine  inmates  of  the 
house,  but  the  first  day  of  convalescence  that  he 
was  able  to  be  out  of  his  room  and  to  descend 
the  stairs,  unsteadily  enough  and  holding  to  the 
balustrade  all  the  way,  he  was  very  civilly  greeted 
by  Mrs.  Gwynn  when  he  suddenly  appeared  at 
the  library  door. 

She  glanced  up  with  obvious  surprise,  then 
advanced  with  the  light,  airy  elegance  that  was 
naturally  appurtenant  to  her  slight  figure,  and 
seemed  no  more  a  conscious  pose  or  gait  than 
the  buoyancy  of  a  bird  or  a  butterfly.  She  shook 
hands  with  him,  hoped  he  was  better,  congratu 
lated  him  on  the  happy  termination  of  so  serious 
an  illness,  cautioned  him  against  exposure  to  the 
chilly  uncertain  weather,  drew  a  great  arm-chair 
nearer  to  the  fire,  and  as  he  seated  himself  she 
piled  up  some  old  numbers  of  BlackwoocPs  Maga 
zine  and  the  EdmburgK  Review  on  a  little  table 
close  to  his  elbow. 

Her  regard  for  his  comfort  —  casual,  even  offi 
cial,  so  to  speak,  though  it  was,  the  attentive, 
considerate  expression  of  her  beautiful  eyes,  the 

37 


38  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

kindly  tones  of  her  dulcet,  drawling  voice —  af 
fected  him  like  a  benediction.  He  was  still  feeble, 
tremulous,  and  his  heart  throbbed  with  sudden 
surges  of  emotion.  He  was  grateful,  recognizant, 
flattered,  although  the  provision  for  his  mental 
entertainment  bore  also  the  interpretation  that 
he  need  not  trouble  himself  to  talk. 

Therefore  he  affected  to  read,  and  she  sat  ap 
parently  oblivious  of  his  presence,  crocheting  a 
fichu-like  garment,  called  a  "sontag"  in  those 
days,  destined  for  a  friend,  evidently,  not  for  her 
own  sombre  wear.  The  material  was  of  an  ultra 
marine  blue  zephyr,  with  a  border  of  flecked  black 
and  white.  She  was  making  no  great  speed,  for 
often  the  long,  white  bone  needle  fell  from  her 
listless  grasp,  and  with  her  beautiful  eyes  on  the 
fire,  her  face  no  longer  a  cold,  impassive  mask, 
but  all  unconscious,  soft,  wistful,  sweet,  showing 
her  real  identity,  she  would  lose  herself  in  revery 
till  some  interruption  —  Judge  Roscoe's  entrance, 
the  "ladies"  and  their  demands,  old  Ephraim 
seeking  orders  —  would  rouse  her  with  a  start  as 
from  a  veritable  dream. 

As  the  days  went  thus  slowly  by  it  soon  came 
to  pass  that  Baynell  could  not  be  silent.  Her 
presence  here  flattered  him,  but  he  did  not 
reflect  that  the  library  was  the  gathering-place 
of  all  the  family ;  it  held,  too,  the  only  fire, 
except  his  own,  in  the  house,  a  fact  which  he, 
forgetful  of  the  scarcity  of  fuel  which  the  army 
had  occasioned,  did  not  appreciate.  She  could 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  39 

hardly  withdraw,  and,  with  her  work  in  her  hand, 
she  could  not  ignore  her  uncle's  guest. 

Sometimes  he  caught  himself  covertly  studying 
her  expression,  marvelling  at  its  complete  absorp 
tion  ;  —  at  the  strange  fact  that  so  slight  a  token 
of  such  deep  introspection  showed  on  the  sur 
face.  It  was  like  some  expanse  of  still,  clear 
waters  —  one  can  only  know  that  here  are  un 
measured  fathoms,  abysses  of  unexplored  depths. 
Her  meditation,  her  obvious  brooding  thought, 
seemed  significant ;  yet  sometimes  he  was  prone 
to  deem  this  merely  the  cast  of  her  noble,  reflect 
ive  features,  her  expansive  brow,  the  comprehen 
sive  intelligence  of  her  limpid  eyes,  —  all  so 
beautiful,  yet  endowed  with  something  far  be 
yond  mere  beauty.  Now  and  again  he  read  aloud 
a  passage  which  specially  struck  his  attention, 
and  occasionally  her  comments  jarred  on  his  pre 
conceived  opinion  of  her,  or,  rather,  of  what  a 
woman  so  young,  so  favored,  so  graciously  en 
dowed,  ought  to  feel  and  think.  One  day,  par 
ticularly,  he  was  much  impressed  by  this.  Some 
benignant  philosopher,  reaching  out  both  hands 
to  the  happy  time  of  the  millennium,  had  given 
voice  to  the  theory  that  man's  inhumanity  to 
man,  particularly  in  the  more  cultured  circles, 
was  the  result  of  scant  mutual  knowledge  —  if 
we  but  knew  the  sorrows  of  others,  how  hate 
would  be  metamorphosed  to  pity,  the  bruised 
reed  unbroken  !  This  sentiment  mightily  pleased 
Captain  Baynell,  and  he  read  it  aloud. 


40  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

It  seemed  potently  to  arrest  her  attention. 
She  laid  her  work  down  on  her  knee  and  gazed 
steadily  at  him. 

"If  we  could  know  the  secret  heartache  — 
the  blighted  aspiration  —  the  denied  longing  — 
the  bruised  pride  of  others  ?  " 

As  he  signified  assent,  she  gazed  steadily  at  him 
for  a  moment  longer  in  silence.  Then  — 

"  If  we  only  knew  !  "  she  cried,  —  "  Christian 
brethren,  —  what  a  laughing,  jeering,  gibing 
world  we  should  be ! " 

Once  more  she  took  her  work  in  her  hands, 
once  more  exclaimed,  "  If  we  only  knew ! "  and 
paused  to  laugh  aloud  with  a  low  icy  tone.  Then 
she  inserted  the  dexterous  needle  into  the  fashion 
ing  of  the  "  shell "  and  bent  her  reflective,  smiling 
face  over  the  swift  serpentines  of  the  "  zephyr." 

Captain  Baynell  was  shocked  in  some  sort. 
This  frank  unconscious  cynicism  was  out  of  keep 
ing  with  so  much  grace  and  charm.  He  was 
hardly  ready  to  argue  the  question.  He  was 
dismayed  by  a  sense  of  futility.  If  she  had 
thought  this,  it  was  enough  to  show  her  inmost 
nature.  A  substituted,  cultivated  conviction  does 
not  uproot  the  spontaneous  productions  of  the 
mind.  It  is  only  foisted  in  their  midst.  He  was 
silent  in  his  turn,  and  presently  fell  to  fluttering 
the  leaves  of  his  book  and  reading  with  slight 
interest  and  only  a  superficial  appearance  of 
absorption. 

If  we  only  knew  the  sorrows  of  others !     Mrs. 


THE  STOKM  CENTRE  41 

Gwynn's  satiric  eyes  glowed  with  the  uncomfort 
able  thought  that  hers  at  all  events  had  been 
public  enough.  If  openness  be  a  claim  for  sym 
pathy,  she  might  well  be  entitled  to  receive  balm 
of  all  her  world.  It  seared  every  sensitive  fibre 
within  her  to  realize  how  much  of  her  intimate 
inner  life  they  all  knew,  —  her  friends,  who 
masked  this  knowledge  with  a  casual  face,  but 
talked  over  her  foolish  miseries  among  themselves 
with  the  mingled  gusto  of  gossip,  the  superiority 
of  contemptuous  commiseration,  and  a  rabid  zest 
of  speculation  concerning  such  poor  reserves  as 
she  had  been  able  to  maintain.  Much  of  this 
drifted  back  to  her  knowledge  through  her  old 
colored  nurse,  who  since  her  childhood  had  re 
mained  her  special  attendant,  though  now  officiat 
ing  as  cook  to  the  Roscoe  household,  and  by  all 
respectfully  called  "  Aunt  Chaney."  Her  associa 
tion  with  other  cooks  and  ladies'  maids  enabled 
her  to  become  well  informed  as  to  what  was  said 
and  known  in  other  households  of  these  affairs. 
As  Aunt  Chaney  detailed  the  gossip,  she  herself 
would  burst  into  painful  tears  at  the  humiliating 
disclosures,  exclaiming  ever  and  anon,  "  Oh,  de 
debbil  was  busy,  shorely,  de  day  dee  married  dat 
man ! " 

But  despite  her  burden  of  sympathetic  woe, 
she  would  gather  her  powers  to  compass  a  debo 
nair  assurance  toward  observant  outsiders  and 
optimistically  toss  her  head.  "De  man  was 
good-looking  to  extraction,"  she  would  loftily 


42  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

asseverate,  in  defence  of  the  situation,  "and  he 
didn't  live  long,  nohow." 

Continuing,  she  would  remind  her  hearers  that 
she  had  been  opposed  to  her  young  mistress's 
marriage,  "  But  shucks !  de  pore  chile  saw  how 
the  other  gals  wuz  runnin'  arter  Rufus  Allerton 
Gwynn,  —  dat  Fisher  gal  tried  hard  fur  true,  an' 
not  married  yit,  —  an'  dat  made  Leonora  Gwynn 
—  Leonora  Roscoe  dat  wuz  —  think  mo'  of  his 
bein'  so  taken  up  with  her!  De  hansomes'  man 
in  de  whole  country  !  He  didn't  live  long !  " 

This  gallant  outward  show  did  not  prevent  the 
iron  from  entering  the  old  nurse's  soul  especially 
as  she  detailed  the  gossip  of  Miss  Fisher's  maid, 
Leanna,  who  overheard  the  conversation  of  her 
mistress  with  two  particular  girl-cronies  beside 
the  midnight  fire,  pending  the  duty  of  brushing 
•the  long  hair  of  the  Fisher  enchantress,  which, 
being  of  a  thrice-gilded  red  tint,  required  much 
care  and  gave  her  much  trouble.  It  gave  trouble 
elsewhere.  Its  flaring  glories  kept  others  awake 
besides  poor  Leanna,  plying  the  brush  nightly  one 
"solid  hour  by  the  clock."  For  the  fair  Miss 
Mildred  Fisher  was  a  famous  belle,  and  many 
hearts  had  been  entangled  in  .  those  glittering 
meshes. 

This  trio  had  been  Leonora  Gwynn's  intimate 
coterie,  and  she  knew  just  how  they  looked  as 
they  sat  half  undressed  in  the  chilly  midnight 
before  the  dying  fire  in  a  great  bedroom,  in  the 
home  of  one  of  the  three,  their  tresses  —  Maude 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  43 

Eldon's  dark,  and  Margaret  Duncan's  brown,  and 
Mildred  Fisher's  red-gold,  with  Leanna's  inter 
ested  face  leaning  above  their  gilded  shimmer 
—  hanging  down  over  dressing-sacques  or  night 
gowns,  while  they  actively  gesticulated  at  each 
other  with  handglass  or  brush,  and  with  spirit 
disputed  whether  it  was  a  chair  which  Rufus 
Gwynn  had  broken  over  Leonora's  head,  or  did 
he  merely  drag  her  around  by  the  hair  —  "  Think 
of  that,  my  dear,  —  by  her  hair !  " 

It  was  a  poor  consolation,  but  this  neither 
they,  nor  any  other,  would  ever  know.  With 
the  reflection  Leonora  set  her  even  little  teeth 
together  as  she  still  dreamily  gazed  into  the  fire. 

Other  more  obvious  facts  she  could  not  con 
ceal.  Her  stringent,  hopeless  poverty  would 
bring  a  piteous  expression  to  Judge  Roscoe's  face 
as  occasion  required  him  to  seek  to  gather  together 
some  humble  remnants  of  the  estate  her  husband 
had  recklessly  flung  away,  for  he  had  dissipated 
her  fortune  as  well  as  desolated  her  heart.  She 
needed  no  reminder,  and  indeed  no  word  passed 
Judge  Roscoe's  lips  of  the  settlements  that  he 
had  drawn  when  he  discovered  that,  despite  all 
remonstrances,  his  orphaned  niece  was  bent 
upon  this  marriage.  Though  Rufus  Gwynn 
protested  that  he  would  sign  them,  she  had 
tossed  them  into  the  fire  like  a  heroine  of  ro 
mance,  grandiloquently  declaring  that  she  would 
not  trust  herself  to  a  man  to  whom  she  could 
not  trust  her  fortune. 


44  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

How  pleased  her  lover  had  been  !  How  gay, 
gallant,  triumphant !  Later  he  found  his  account 
in  her  folly  and  a  more  substantial  value  than 
flattered  pride,  for  by  reason  of  her  marriage 
the  financial  control  of  her  guardian  was  abro 
gated,  and  her  thousands  slipped  through  her 
husband's  fingers  like  sand  at  the  gaming-table, 
the  wine-rooms,  the  race-track,  as  with  his  wild, 
riotous  companions  he  went  his  swift  way  to 
destruction  and  death.  And  even  this  did  not 
alienate  her,  for  her  early  admiration  and  foolish 
adoration  had  a  continuance  that  a  devotion  for  a 
worthier  object  rarely  attains,  and  she  loved  him 
long,  despite  financial  reverses  and  wicked  waste 
and  cruelty  and  neglect.  She  could  have  for 
given  him  aught,  all,  but  his  own  unworthiness. 
Who  can  gauge  the  sophistries,  the  extenuations, 
the  hopes,  that  delude  a  woman  who  clings  to  an 
ideal  of  her  own  tender  fashioning,  the  dream  of 
a  fond  heart,  and  the  sacrifice  of  a  loving  young 
life.  He  left  her  not  one  vain  imagining  that 
she  might  still  hold  dear  amidst  the  wreck  of  her 
existence. 

The  crisis  came  at  the  end  of  a  quarrel,  —  one 
of  his  own  making,  —  a  quarrel  about  a  horse  that 
he  wished  to  sell ;  —  oh,  the  trifle  —  the  trifle  that 
had  wrought  such  woe ! 

As  she  thought  of  it  anew,  sitting  before 
the  fire,  she  laid  the  work  upon  her  knee  and  un 
consciously  wrung  her  hands.  The  next  moment 
she  felt  the  eyes  of  the  officer  lifted  toward  her 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  45 

in  a  cursory  glance.  She  affected  to  shift  the 
rings  on  her  fingers,  then  took  up  the  crochet- 
needle  and  bent  her  head  to  the  deft  fashioning 
of  shells. 

Now  she  could  think  unmolested,  think  of 
what  she  could  never  forget !  Yet  why  should 
she  canvass  the  details  again  and  again,  save  that 
she  must.  The  event  marked  an  epoch  of  final 
significance  in  her  life, — the  moment  that  her 
dream  fled  and  she  awakened  to  the  stern  fact 
that  she  had  ceased  to  love.  And  at  first  it  was 
a  trifle,  a  mere  trifle,  that  had  inaugurated  this 
amazing  change.  Her  husband  wished  to  sell 
the  horse,  her  horse,  that  Judge  Roscoe  had  given 
her  a  week  before.  The  gift  had  come,  she  knew, 
as  an  overture  of  reconciliation,  as  there  had  been 
much  hard  feeling  between  Judge  Roscoe  and  his 
niece.  For  after  her  elopement  and  marriage  he 
promptly  applied  to  the  chancery  court  seeking 
to  protect  her  future  by  securing  the  settlement 
on  her  of  certain  funds  of  her  estate,  urging  the 
fact  of  Her  minority  and  the  spendthrift  character 
of  her  husband.  Leonora  vehemently  opposed  the 
petition,  and  owing  to  the  efforts  of  her  counsel 
to  gain  time  and  the  law's  delays,  she  came  of  age 
before  any  decree  could  be  granted,  and  then  de 
feated  the  measure  by  making  a  full  legal  waiver 
of  her  rights  in  favor  of  her  husband.  But,  at 
length,  when  pity  overmastered  Judge  Roscoe's 
just  anger,  she  welcomed  a  token  of  his  renewed 
cordiality.  She  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  sell  the 


46  THE  STORM  CENTRE 

gift,  she  had  remonstrated.  It  was  not  bestowed 
as  a  resource  —  to  sell.  She  feared  to  wound 
her  kinsman.  What  was  the  pressing  necessity 
for  money?  Why  not  manage  as  if  the  horse 
had  not  been  given  her? 

The  contention  waxed  high  as  she  stood  in 
habit  and  hat  just  in  the  vestibule  with  the 
horse  outside  hitched  to  the  block,  for  Judge 
Roscoe  was  coming  to  ride  with  her.  She  held 
fast,  for  a  wonder ;  she  seldom  could  resist ;  but 
the  horse  was  not  theirs  to  sell.  Rufus  Gwynn 
suddenly  turned  at  last,  sprang  up  the  stairs, 
three  steps  at  a  time,  and  as  he  came  bounding 
down  again  she  saw  the  glint  of  steel  in  his  hand. 

Even  now  she  shuddered. 

"It  is  growing  colder,"  Captain  Baynell  said. 
(How  observant  that  man  seemed  to  be  !)  "  Allow 
me  to  mend  the  fire." 

He  stirred  the  hickory  logs,  and  as  the  yellow 
flames  shot  up  the  chimney  he  sank  back  into  his 
great  chair,  and  she  took  up  the  thread  of  her 
work  and  her  reminiscences  together. 

She  honestly  thought  her  husband  had  intended 
to  kill  her.  Somehow  the  veil  dropped  from  her 
eyes,  and  she  knew  him  for  the  fiend  he  was 
even  before  the  dastardly  act  that  revealed  him 
unqualified. 

But  it  was  not  she  on  whom  his  spite  was  to 
fall.  Such  deeds  bring  retribution.  Only  the 
horse  —  the  glossy,  graceful,  spirited  animal,  turn 
ing  his  lustrous  confiding  eyes  toward  the  house 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  47 

as  the  door  opened,  whinnying  a  low  joyous 
welcome,  anticipative  of  the  breezy  gallop  — 
received  the  bullet  just  below  the  ear. 

It  was  then  and  afterward  like  the  distraught 
agony  of  a  confused  dream.  She  heard  her  own 
screams  as  if  they  had  been  uttered  by  another ; 
she  saw  the  great  balk  of  the  horse  lying  in  the 
road,  struggling  frightfully,  futilely,  whether  with 
conscious  pain  or  merely  the  last  reserves  of  mus 
cular  energy  she  did  not  know ;  she  noted  the 
gathering  crowd,  dismayed,  bewildered,  angry ; 
she  knew  that  her  husband  had  hastily  galloped 
off,  a  trifle  out  of  countenance  because  of  certain 
threats  of  some  brawny  Irish  railroad  hands 
going  home  with  their  dinner-pails  who  had  seen 
the  whole  occurrence.  Then  Judge  Roscoe  had 
ridden  up  at  last  to  accompany  her  as  of  old, 
thinking  how  pretty  and  pleased  she  would  be 
on  the  new  horse,  —  for  equestrianism  was  the 
vaunt  of  the  girls  of  that  day  and  she  had  been 
a  famous  horsewoman, — and  feeling  a  great 
pity  because  of  her  privations,  and  her  cruel 
folly,  and  her  unworthy  husband.  When  he 
saw  what  had  just  occurred,  he  said  instantly, 
"  You  must  come  home  with  me,  Leonora ;  you 
are  not  safe."  And  she  had  answered,  "Take 
me  with  you  —  quick  —  quick  !  So  that  I  may 
never  see  that  coward  again."  Thus  she  had 
left  her  husband  forever. 

"  Shall  I  draw  up  the  blind  ?  "  asked  Captain 
Baynell,  seeing  her  fumble  for  her  zephyr. 


48  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"  No,  thank  you ;  there  is  still  light  sufficient, 
I  think.  The  days  are  growing  longer." 

Again,  in  the  silence  of  the  quiet  room,  the  spell 
of  her  reminiscences  resumed  its  sway.  She 
recalled  the  promises  that  had  not  sufficed ;  no 
explanations  extenuated  the  facts  ;  no  lures  could 
avail ;  her  resolution  was  taken  and  held  firm. 
She  laughed  when,  with  full  confidence  in  her 
unshaken  love  for  him,  her  husband  appealed  to 
her  by  their  mutual  devotion.  She  was  simply 
enlightened.  But  she  resented  the  satisfaction 
that  Judge  Roscoe  and  his  wife  obviously  felt  in 
the  separation,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  secret 
triumph  of  all  her  friends  who  had  opposed  the 
match.  She  was  embittered,  humiliated,  broken- 
spirited,  yet  she  maintained  throughout  a  mask 
of  placidity  to  the  world,  inquisitive,  pitying, 
ridiculing,  as  she  knew  it  to  be.  The  separation 
passed  as  temporary.  She  was  making  a  visit 
to  her  former  home.  This  feint  had  the  more 
countenance  when  a  sudden  need  for  her  pres 
ence  arose.  Her  aunt  fell  ill  and  died,  and  soon 
there  came  tidings  of  the  death  of  Clarence 
Roscoe's  wife  while  he  was  far  away  in  the 
Confederate  army.  The  three  little  girls  were 
all  alone. 

«  Bring  them  here,  Uncle  Gerald.  I  will  take 
charge  of  them,"  Leonora  had  said.  «  Perhaps  I 
can  feel  less  dependent  then." 

And  Judge  Roscoe,  who  had  borne  his  own 
losses  like  a  philosopher,  had  tears  in  his  eyes  for 


THE   STOKM   CENTRE  49 

her  losses.  "  Oh,  poor  Leonora ! "  he  had  ex 
claimed.  "  Your  very  presence  is  a  boon,  my  dear. 
But  for  you  to  be  so  stricken  and  desolate  and — " 

He  was  about  to  say  "  robbed,"  but  the  facts 
forbade  him ;  for  Gwynn's  legal  rights  rendered 
her  position  as  difficult  as  unenviable.  In  her 
own  house  she  had  contrived  to  hold  her  belong 
ings  together.  Now,  day  by  day,  came  tidings  of 
the  sale  of  her  special  personal  effects  —  her  car 
riage,  her  domestic  animals,  her  furniture,  the 
very  pictures  on  the  walls ;  then  had  followed  a 
letter  from  her  husband,  regretting  all  his  mis 
deeds  and  promising  infinite  rehabilitation  if  she 
would  but  forgive  him.  Naught  could  provoke  a 
remonstrance,  could  stimulate  Leonora  to  action, 
could  induce  a  return. 

Judge  Roscoe  had  said  but  little.  He  had  the 
deep-seated  juridical  respect  for  the  relation  of 
man  and  wife  as  a  creation  of  law,  as  well  as  an 
institution  of  God.  When  he  was  appealed  to, 
he  felt  it  his  duty  to  place  impartially  before  her 
the  husband's  arguments,  and  promises,  and  prot 
estations,  but  he  experienced  intense  relief  when 
she  tersely  dismissed  Rufus  Gwynn's  plea  for  a 
reconciliation.  "  I  know  him  now,"  she  replied. 

"  An'  'fore  de  Lawd,  I  knows  him  too ! "  her 
old  nurse  declared  ;  "  I  jes'  uped  an'  I  sez,  <  Marse 
Rufe,  ye  hev'  got  sech  a  notion  o'  sellin'  out,  ye 
mought  sell  old  Chaney  —  ef  ennybody  would 
buy  sech  a  contraption  in1  dese  days !  So  I'm 
goin'  over  to  my  old  home  at  Judge  Roscoe's 


50  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

place,  to  wait  on  Miss  Leonora.  I  knows  she 
needs  me,  an'  I  'spect  she's  watchin'  fur  me  now.' 
An'  Marse  Rufe,  he  says,  <  Aunt  Chaney,  I  don't 
know  what  you  are  talking  about !  Go  over 
there,  an'  welcome !  An'  try  to  get  my  wife  to 
see  I  was  just  overtaken  in  my  temper  and 
desperate ;  you  persuade  her  to  come  back,  Aunt 
Chaney.'  Dat's  what  de  debbil  said  ter  me.  I 
always  heard  dat  de  debbil  had  a  club  foot. 
But,  mon,  he  ain't.  Two  long,  slim,  handsome 
feet,  an'  his  boots,  sah,  made  in  New  Orleens ! " 

The  end  had  come  characteristically  at  last ! 
A  horse,  furiously  ridden,  brutally  beaten,  reared 
suddenly,  lost  his  balance,  fell  backward,  crush 
ing  the  rider  and  breaking  his  neck.  And  so 
E-ufus  Gwynn  reached  his  goal,  and  his  wife  was 
free  at  last. 

Free  as  some  defenceless,  hunted,  tremulous 
animal,  miraculously  escaping  fierce  fangs,  and 
a  furious  rush  of  a  murderous  pursuit ;  forever 
dominated  by  the  sense  of  disaster,  and  despair, 
and  flight ;  forever  looking  backward,  forever 
hearkening  to  the  echoes  of  the  troublous  past  — 
exhausted,  listless,  hopeless,  every  impulse  of 
volition  stunned. 

It  was  well  for  her,  doubtless,  that  the  insist 
ent  duties  of  the  care  of  her  uncle's  household  had 
grown  difficult  in  the  changed  conditions  induced 
by  the  war ;  that  the  education,  the  training,  the 
well-being,  of  the  motherless  little  "ladies"  — 
all  restricted  by  the  ever  narrowing  opportunity 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  51 

of  the  beleaguered  town,  and  overshadowed  by  the 
impending  clouds  of  disaster  —  appealed  to  her 
womanly  heart  and  her  maternal  instincts.  Their 
needs  had  roused  her  interest,  stimulated  her 
invention,  elicited  her  self-control,  that  she  might 
more  definitely  control  them. 

In  the  days  of  Captain  Baynell's  convalescence 
he  had  unique  opportunities  for  observing  the 
methods  that  had  prevailed  under  her  manage 
ment,  for  all  the  life  of  the  house  revolved  about 
the  one  big  fire  in  the  library.  Sometimes,  as  he 
and  Judge  Roscoe  sat  there  with  papers  and 
books  and  cigars,  presumably  oblivious  of  the 
minutiae  of  the  household  matters,  while  the  fire 
flared  and  the  tobacco  smoke  hung  in  blue 
wreaths  about  the  stuccoed  ceiling  and  the  carved 
ornaments  of  the  tall  book-cases,  he  fancied  that 
it  was  the  characteristic  interest  in  trifles  animat 
ing  an  invalid  which  caused  him  to  smilingly 
watch  the  scholastic  struggles  of  the  "  ladies,"  — 
their  turmoils  with  « jogaphy,"  for  it  was  decreed 
that  they  should  learn  somewhat  of  the  earth  on 
which  they  lived ;  the  anguish  inflicted  by  that  po 
tent  instrument  of  torture,  the  Blue  Speller ;  the 
bowed  head  of  juvenile  despair  on  the  wooden 
rim  of  the  slate,  over  the  mysteries  of  "  subscrac- 
tion,"  as  the  "  lady  "  sobbed  softly,  under  her 
breath,  for  loud  weepings  were  interdicted,  how 
ever  poignant  the  woe  might  be.  Mrs.  Gwynn 
was  indeed  unfeeling  in  these  crises  and  often 
sarcastic.  "  You  might  use  your  sponge  to  wipe 


52  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

away  your  tears,  Geraldine,"  she  would  say,  with 
that  curt  icy  inflection  of  her  soft  voice.  "  I 
notice  it  is  too  dry  for  use  on  your  slate." 

Each  slate  had  a  string  to  which  was  attached 
a  small  sponge  and  a  short  slate-pencil,  capable 
of  an  excruciating  creak,  which  often  set  the 
judge's  teeth  on  edge  ;  as  he  would  wince  from  the 
sound,  Mrs.  Gwynn  would  comment  in  this  wise, 
"  I  have  often  heard  that  learned  ladies  do 
not  contribute  to  household  comfort,  —  so  your 
Honor  must  suffer  for  the  erudition  that  we  have 
here." 

And  the  activities  of  "  subscraction "  were 
never  abated. 

Baynell  had  at  first  a  certain  shrinking  to  wit 
ness  the  lessons  of  the  deaf-mute,  pitying  the 
poor  deprived  child,  so  young,  so  tender,  so 
pretty,  so  plaintive  in  her  infirmity,  shut  out 
from  all  the  usual  avenues  of  knowledge.  He 
would  take  up  his  book  and  withdraw  his  at 
tention.  But  after  a  time  there  was  suddenly 
forced  upon  his  observation  the  superior  judg 
ment  and  acumen  and  careful  altruistic  thought 
exerted  in  these  small  matters  by  Mrs.  Gwynn. 
Inexpert  in  the  manual  alphabet,  she  wasted  no 
time  nor  labor  on  its  acquisition  for  herself ;  but, 
notwithstanding  this,  "  subscraction  "  had  no  ter 
rors  for  Lucille.  So  practised  was  she  in  the 
domain  of  demonstration  that  her  slate  was 
swiftly  covered  with  figures,  and  her  sponge  had 
no  necessity  to  be  diverted  to  the  incongruous 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  53 

function  of  wiping  her  bright  eyes.  All  the 
questions  were  put  in  writing  and  answered  by 
the  little  deaf-mute  with  correct  spelling  and 
a  most  legible  and  creditable  chirography,  over 
which  Captain  Baynell  found  himself  exclaiming 
with  delighted  surprise,  while  the  cheeks  both 
of  the  scholar  and  teacher  flushed  with  pride 
and  gratification,  as  they  exchanged  congratula 
tory  smiles.  So  far  from  being  the  sport  of  her 
limitations  and  humiliated  by  them,  Lucille  was 
pressed  forward  to  excel,  and  the  twins  gazed 
upon  her  as  a  miracle  of  learning,  and  often 
craved  the  privilege  of  scanning  her  slate,  and 
imitating  the  childish  flourishes  of  her  capital 
letters.  In  naught  was  she  permitted  to  feel 
her  deficiencies  —  so  craftily  tender  was  her  pre 
ceptress.  The  hour  which  the  twins  devoted  to 
playing  scales  on  the  grand  piano  —  being  snugly 
buttoned  up  in  sacques  to  protect  them  from  the 
chill  of  the  great  parlors,  and  often  called  across 
the  hall  to  warm  their  fingers  at  the  library  fire 
—  Lucille  sat  at  her  drawing-board,  and  although 
she  had  only  an  ordinary  degree  of  talent,  she 
acquired  a  deftness  and  a  proficiency  that  made 
the  result  remarkable  for  a  child  of  her  age ;  her 
leisure  was  encouraged  to  express  itself  in  sketch 
ing  from  nature,  and  she  went  about  much  of  the 
time  pleasantly  engrossed,  holding  up  a  pencil  at 
a  stiff  angle  and  at  arm's-length  to  take  accurate 
measurement  of  relative  distances  and  details  of 
perspective. 


54  THE   STOEM   CENTRE 

Baynell  was  a  man  who  could  be  allured  by 
a  pretty  face,  but  he  could  never  have  fallen  in 
love  with  a  woman  merely  for  her  beauty.  He 
was  possessed  of  insistent  ideals,  and  now  and 
then  these  were  shattered  by  an  evidence  of  Mrs. 
Gwynn's  incongruously  bitter  cynicism,  or  a 
touch  of  repellent  hardness  and  an  icy  coldness 
unpleasing  in  one  so  young,  and  all  his  precon 
ceived  prejudices  were  to  adjust  anew.  He  was 
beginning  at  last  to  feel  that  he  must  seek  to 
realize  her  nature,  rather  than  to  fit  her  into  the 
niche  awaiting  the  conventional  goddess  of  his 
fancy.  She  had  other  traits  as  inconsistent 
with  her  youth,  her  grace,  her  beauty,  her  lis 
some  gait,  her  delicate  hand ;  and  these  were 
homespun  virtues,  so  plain,  so  good,  so  useful,  so 
aggressive  —  such  as  one  may  fancy  are  designed 
to  compensate  the  possessor  for  limitations  in 
a  more  graceful  sort,  —  according  with  an  angu 
lar  frame,  a  near-sighted  vision,  a  rasping  voice. 
There  was  scant  need  to  look  so  beautiful, 
so  daintily  speculative,  as  she  sat  and  cast  up 
the  judge's  household  accounts  in  a  big  red  book 
that  seemed  full  of  cobweb  perplexities  and 
strenuous  calculations  to  make  both  ends  meet. 
Sometimes  she  brought  it  over  to  her  uncle  and, 
placing  it  before  his  reluctant  gaze,  pointed  out 
some  item  of  his  own  extravagance  with  a 
dignity  of  rebuke  and  a  look  of  superior  wisdom 
that  might  have  realized  to  the  imagination 
Minerva  herself.  Such  a  wealth  of  good  house- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  55 

keeping  lore,  so  accurately  applied,  might  have 
justified  any  amount  of  feminine  ugliness. 

Her  tender,  far-sighted,  commiserative  apprecia 
tion  of  the  deaf-mute's  limitations,  and  the  sim 
ple  measures  that  had  so  far  nullified  them  and 
utilized  all  the  child's  capacity,  were  incongruous 
with  the  iron  rule  under  which  the  three  were  held. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  ladies  are  giving  you  a  great 
deal  of  trouble,  Leonora,"  her  uncle  said  one  day, 
apologetically,  when  absolute  mutiny  seemed 
abroad  amongst  them. 

"  Not  half  so  much  trouble  as  I  intend  to  give 
them,"  Mrs.  Gwynn  replied  resolutely. 

Their  meek,  mild,  readjusted  little  faces  after 
the  scholastic  hours  were  over  were  enough  to 
move  a  heart  of  stone,  and  now  and  again  Judge 
Roscoe  glanced  uneasily  at  them,  and  at  last  said 
inappropriately  enough :  — 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  not  had  a  happy  morn 
ing,  ladies." 

"  They  have  been  brought  to  hear  reason," 
Mrs.  Gwynn  observed  dryly.  "  And  I  have 
heard  reason,  too,  —  the  Fourth  Line  of  the  Mul 
tiplication  Table  recited  backward  four  times, 
standing  facing  the  wall.  It  is  an  exercise  that 
tends  to  subdue  the  angry  passions.  Allow  me 
to  commend  it  for  general  experiment." 

Baynell  sought  to  laugh  the  episode  off  genially 
with  the  "ladies,"  but  the  three  little  faces  looked 
for  permission  to  ridicule  this  dire  experience, 
and  as  Mrs.  Gwynn's  countenance  maintained  a 


56  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

blank  inscrutability,  they  did  not  venture  to 
make  merry  over  their  miseries  of  the  "Four 
Line,"  now  happily  overpast. 

The  scholastic  duties  were  well  over  by  noon, 
except  perhaps  for  the  scale-playing  on  the  grand 
piano,  and  the  "  ladies "  roamed  at  will  about 
the  house,  or  in  the  parterre  if  the  weather  were 
dry,  or  played  at  battledore  and  shuttlecock  or 
graces  in  the  long  gallery  enclosed  with  Vene 
tian  blinds.  If  it  rained  they  were  permitted 
to  repair  to  the  kitchen,  where  Aunt  Chaney,  a 
very  tall,  portly  woman,  with  a  stately  gruffness, 
obviously  spurious,  accommodated  them  with 
bits  of  dough,  to  be  moulded  into  ducks  and 
pigs,  and  assigned  them  a  small  section  of  the 
stove  whereon  to  bake  these  triumphs  of  the 
plastic  art.  Doll's  dresses  were  here  laundered, 
being  washed  in  a  small  cedar  noggin  owned  in 
common  by  the  trio,  and  a  miniature  sad-iron, 
heated  by  special  permission  on  Aunt  Chaney's 
stove,  was  brought  into  requisition.  Sometimes 
Aunt  Chaney  was  in  a  softened  mood,  and  fluted 
a  ruffle  on  a  wax  baby's  skirt,  and  told  wonder 
ful  tales  about  Mrs.  Gwynn's  dresses  in  her  girl 
hood,  "  flounced  to  the  waist,  and  crimped  to  a 
charm."  Thence  the  transition  was  easy  to  the 
details  of  her  young  mistress's  social  triumphs 
and  celebrated  beauty,  with  lovers  in  gangs,  all 
sighing  like  furnaces  and  represented  as  rolling 
in  riches  and  riding  splendid  and  prancing  horses, 
the  final  special  zest  of  each  story  being  the 


THE  STORM  CENTRE  57 

fruitless  jealousy  of  the  red-headed  Miss  Mildred 
Fisher,  eating  her  heart  out,  —  this  to  the  im 
mature  imagination  of  the  "  ladies "  literally 
resembled  the  chickens'  hearts  which  were  so 
daintily  chopped  to  garnish  the  dish  of  fried 
pullets  amidst  the  parsley. 

As  the  rain  beat  against  the  windows  and 
the  evening  fell,  the  trio  thought  many  a  loiter- 
ing-place  less  attractive  than  the  chimney-nook 
behind  the  stove  in  Aunt  Chaney's  kitchen,  re 
galed  with  her  stories  as  she  cooked,  and  now 
and  then  a  spoonful  of  some  dainty,  adminis 
tered  with  the  curt  command,  "  Open  yer  mouf, 
ladies !  " 

Thus  it  was  that  the  library  was  almost  de 
serted  when  Colonel  Ashley  called  more  than 
once.  Captain  Baynell  he  found,  and  occasionally 
the  judge  also.  He  always  selected  the  afternoons, 
and  after  a  time  he  was  wont  to  glance  about 
with  such  a  keen,  predatory  expression  that  the 
truth  began  to  dawn  vaguely  on  Captain  Baynell. 
Vanity  is  so  robust  an  endowment  that  it  had 
been  easy  enough  for  the  recipient  of  these  visits 
to  appropriate  wholly  the  interest  that  prompted 
them.  It  struck  Baynell  with  an  indignant 
sense  of  impropriety  when  he  began  to  remember 
Ashley's  ardent  desire  to  meet  Mrs.  Gwynn,  his 
admiration  of  the  glimpse  of  her  beauty  that  had 
once  been  vouchsafed  him,  and  to  connect  this 
with  his  manifestation  of  good  comradeship  and 
eager  solicitude  concerning  his  friend's  health. 


58  THE   STOKM   CENTRE 

Baynell  was  infinitely  out  of  countenance  for  a 
moment. 

"  Why,  confound  the  fellow  !  He  doesn't  care 
a  fig  whether  I  live  or  die."  Then  he  was  sen 
sible  of  a  rising  anger,  that  he  should  be  made 
the  subterfuge  of  a  systematic  endeavor  to 
casually  meet  Mrs.  Gwynn,  —  likely  to  prove 
successful  in  the  last  instance.  For  lowering 
clouds  overspread  the  sky  when  Ashley  entered 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  a  storm  so  violent,  so 
tumultuous,  broke  with  such  sudden  fury  that 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  take  leave  had  he 
desired  this.  Baynell  knew  that  nothing  was  fur 
ther  from  his  comrade's  wish.  Ashley  reconciled 
himself  so  swiftly  to  Judge  Roscoe's  insistence 
that  he  should  remain  to  tea  that  it  might  seem 
he  had  come  for  that  express  purpose. 

"Dat  man,"  soliloquized  the  "double-faced 
Janus  "  impressively,  "  mus'  hev'  smelled  de  per 
fume  of  dat  ar  flummery  plumb  ter  de  camp. 
Chaney  wuz  jes'  dishin'  up  when  he  ring  de 
door-bell!" 


CHAPTER   IV 

Now,  face  to  face  with  the  long-sought  op 
portunity,  Colonel  Ashley  was  grievously  disap 
pointed.  A  woman — young,  singularly  beautiful, 
dressed  like  a  middle-aged  frump,  with  the 
manners  of  a  matron  of  fifty,  staid,  reserved, 
inattentive,  uninterested ! 

The  incongruity  affected  him  like  a  dis 
courtesy  ;  its  rarity  had  no  attractions  for  him, 
nor  in  the  slightest  degree  roused  his  curiosity. 
He  had  expected  charm,  glow,  responsiveness, 
coquetry,  —  all  the  various  traits  that  attend  on 
beauty  and  youth.  Even  a  conscious  hauteur 
would  have  had  its  special  grace  and  piqued  an 
effort  to  win  her  to  cordiality,  but  here  was  the 
inexpressiveness,  the  indifference,  of  an  elderly 
woman,  one  tired,  despondent,  done  with  the 
world  —  civil,  indeed,  as  behooved  her  rearing, 
her  station,  but  unnoting  —  really  apart  from  all 
the  interests  of  the  present  and  all  thought  for  the 
future.  And,  certainly,  Mrs.  Gwynn's  life  might 
be  considered  already  lived  out  in  her  past. 

The  rain  fell  in  sheets,  and  Colonel  Ashley 
wished  himself  back  in  camp,  despite  the  flavor 
of  the  flummery.  As  they  sat  at  table,  now 
and  again  a  vivid  glare  of  lightning  revealed 

59 


60  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

through  the  windows  the  expanse  of  falling 
water,  closely  wrought  as  a  silver-gray  fabric, 
and  the  flash  of  white  foam  from  its  impact 
with  the  ground.  The  house  seemed  to  rock 
with  the  reverberations  of  the  bursts  of  thunder. 

When  they  were  once  more  in  the  library, 
Colonel  Ashley  found  himself  with  a  long  even 
ing  on  his  hands ;  his  chum,  Baynell,  had  fallen 
into  one  of  his  frequent  fits  of  silent  reflectiveness 
as  he  smoked,  and  Judge  Roscoe,  an  ascetic,  quiet, 
uncongenial  old  man,  of  opposite  political  con 
victions, — which  placed  an  embargo  on  all  the 
topics  of  the  day, — did  not  seem  to  promise 
much  in  the  way  of  lively  companionship. 

Mrs.  Gwynn  still  lingered  in  the  dining  room, 
and  the  little  "  ladies "  explained  that  her  old 
nurse,  who  was  now  the  cook,  was  afflicted 
with  a  "misery,"  seeming  to  bear  some  relation 
to  neuralgia,  and  needed  help  to  get  through 
with  her  work,  "  Uncle  Ephraim  being  a  poor 
dependence  "  where  the  handling  of  crockery  was 
concerned. 

The  "ladies,"  with  true  feminine  coquetry, 
affected  a  shy  reserve,  and  rather  retreated  from 
the  expansive  jovial  bonhomie  of  Colonel  Ashley's 
hearty  advances  toward  them,  albeit  they  were 
wont  to  press  their  attentions  upon  the  inex 
pressive  Captain  Baynell.  They  met  with  flut 
tering  downcast  glances  the  engaging  twinkle  of 
Ashley's  bright  dark  eyes.  They  replied  with 
demure  little  clipped  monosyllables  to  his  gay 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  61 

sallies,  and  indeed  Colonel  Ashley  bade  fair  to 
discharge  the  task  of  entertaining  himself 
throughout  the  evening,  till  he  luckily  asked  one 
of  them  what  she  liked  best  to  play — graces  or 
battledore  and  shuttlecock,  Geraldine  having 
brought  in  a  grace-hoop  and  now  holding  it  in 
her  hands  before  her  as  she  stood  in  the  flicker 
of  the  fire. 

"I  like  cards  best,"  Adelaide  volunteered  un 
expectedly. 

"  Have  }^ou  a  pack  of  cards?  Then  let's  have 
a  game  !  "  Ashley  cried  gayly  ;  "  though  I'm 
afraid  you  can  beat  me  at  anything  I  try." 

There  was  a  shrill  jubilance  of  juvenile  acclaim. 
The  three,  their  ringlets  waving,  their  cheeks 
flushing,  the  short  skirts  of  their  gay  attire — blue, 
and  crimson,  and  orange  —  fluttering  joyfully, 
were  instantly  placing  the  chairs  about  the  little 
card-table  and  climbing  into  them,  while  Colonel 
Ashley  took  the  cards  and  dealt  them  with  many 
airy  fancy  touches,  to  the  amazement  and  admira 
tion  of  the  "  ladies."  With  his  versatile  capacity 
for  all  sorts  of  enjoyment,  the  incident  was  begin 
ning  to  have  a  certain  zest  for  him,  involving  no 
sacrifice  either  of  inclination  or  time.  Baynell 
realized  how  Ashley  also  valued  the  pose.  He 
had  an  intuitive  perception  of  Ashley's  own  relish 
of  its  incongruity,  —  the  gallant  colonel  of  cav 
alry,  who  had  successfully  measured  blades  with 
the  fiercest  swordsmen  and  masters  of  fence, 
to  be  now  lending  himself  gently  to  play  with 


62  THE   STORM  CENTRE 

three  little  children,  whose  soft  eyes  glowed  upon 
him  with  radiant  admiration  and  tenderest  confi 
dence,  while  the  firelight  flared  and  flickered 
within  and  the  storm  raged  without !  Baynell 
knew  that  it  was  with  an  appreciated  sacrifice  of 
the  perfect  proportions  of  the  situation  that  Ash 
ley  finally  dealt  cards  for  his  friend  and  Judge 
Roscoe  ;  he  would  have  preferred  to  exclude  them, 
if  he  might,  and  have  the  whole  stage  for  the 
effects  of  his  own  dramatic  personality.  But 
never,  in  all  his  weavings  of  romance  about  him 
self,  was  Ashley  guilty  of  even  the  slightest  injus 
tice  or  discourtesy  or  forgetfulness  of  the  claims 
of  others  ;  hence  his  character  was  almost  as  fine 
and  lovable  as  he  feigned,  or  as  it  would  have 
seemed,  had  but  his  foible  of  self-appreciation, 
self-gratulation,  borne  a  juster  proportion  and 
been  rendered  less  obvious  by  his  own  cheerful, 
unconscious,  transparent  candor.  There  was  no 
guile  in  him,  and  the  smile  was  quite  genuine 
with  which  he  took  up  his  cards  and  affected  to 
look  anxiously  through  them  to  discern  if  Fate 
lurked  therein  in  the  presence  of  the  Old  Maid. 

For  it  was  this  dread  game  that  the  "  ladies  " 
had  chosen,  and  a  serious  affair  it  is  when  re 
garded  from  their  standpoint.  Ashley  had  now 
no  need  of  his  own  sentiments  or  mental  pro 
cesses  or  artistic  poses  to  minister  to  his  entertain 
ment.  It  was  quite  sufficient  to  watch  the  faces 
of  the  "  ladies  "  as  the  «  draw  "  went  round,  each 
player  in  turn  taking  at  random  an  unseen  card 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  63 

from  the  hand  of  the  next  neighbor  to  the  left, 
the  whole  pack  of  course  having  been  dealt.  The 
heavy  terror  of  doom  was  attendant  upon  the 
unwelcome  pasteboard.  Once,  as  this  harbinger 
of  Fate  passed  on,  a  gleeful  squeal  announced 
that  a  "lady"  had  escaped  the  anguish  of  the 
prospect  of  single  blessedness. 

"  That's  not  fair,  Ger'ldine ! "  exclaimed 
Adelaide,  reprovingly  ;  "  you  have  told  ever'body 
that  Gran'pa  has  drawed  the  Old  Maid ! " 

"I  jus'  couldn't  help  it  —  I  was  so  glad  she 
was  gone,"  apologized  the  contrite  Geraldine. 

"  It  makes  no  difference,  my  precious,  for  I 
have  two  of  the  queens,  and  they  are  a  pair," 
said  Judge  Roscoe,  and  as  he  threw  the  mates 
on  the  table  the  " ladies  "  placed  their  hands  on 
their  lips  to  stifle  the  aghast  "  Ohs ! "  and  «  Ahs  !  " 
that  trembled  on  utterance,  and  gazed  on  their 
fellow-gamesters  with  great,  excited,  round  eyes. 
For  the  crisis  had  supervened.  Of  course  one  of 
the  queens  had  been  withdrawn  from  the  pack  at 
the  commencement  of  the  game,  in  order  to  leave 
an  odd  queen  as  the  Old  Maid.  Since  two  had 
just  been  discarded  there  remained  the  prophetic 
spinster,  and  each  "lady's"  delicate  little  fingers 
trembled  on  the  "  draw."  Ashley  could  scarcely 
preserve  a  becoming  gravity  and  inexpressiveness 
as  the  pleading  beseeching  eyes  of  his  next  neigh 
bor  were  cast  up  to  his  countenance,  seeking  to 
read  there  some  intimation  of  the  character  of 
the  card  she  had  selected.  More  than  once  the 


64  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

choice  was  precipitately  abandoned  at  the  last 
moment  and  another  card  snatched  at  hysteric  hap 
hazard.  Then  when  an  insignificant  five  of  dia 
monds  or  three  of  spades  was  revealed,  —  what 
joy  of  relief,  what  deep-drawn  sighs  of  relaxed 
tension,  what  activity  of  little  slippered  feet  under 
the  table,  unable  to  be  still,  fairly  dancing  with 
pleasure  that  the  Old  Maid  with  her  awful  augury 
still  held  aloof  and  went  the  rounds  elsewhere ! 
Then  —  the  eagerness  of  expectation  and  the 
renewed  jeopardy  of  doubt. 

"  On  my  word,  this  is  sport ! "  exclaimed 
Colonel  Ashley.  "This  is  better  than  a  < small 
stake  to  give  an  interest  to  the  game,'  —  eh, 
Judge  ?  " 

« It's  a  big  stake,"  said  Geraldine,  at  his  elbow, 
"  the  Old  Maid  is ! " 

The  desperate  suspense,  the  anguish  of  jeopardy, 
continued,  and  at  length  Geraldine  had  but  one 
card  left,  Colonel  Ashley  holding  two ;  the  other 
players  having  matched  and  tabled  the  rest  of 
the  pack  were  now  out  of  the  game.  Seeing 
how  seriously  the  doom  of  spinsterhood  was 
regarded,  Colonel  Ashley  sought  to  prevent  his 
little  neighbor  from  drawing  the  fateful  paste 
board  by  craftily  shifting  the  cards  in  his  hand 
as  she  was  about  to  take  hold  of  the  grim-visaged 
queen.  Geraldine  detected  the  motion  instantly, 
with  deep  suspicion  misinterpreted  his  intention, 
and  laid  hold  on  the  card  he  had  manoeuvred 
to  retain.  Her  crestfallen  dismay  betrayed  the 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  65 

disaster.  With  wide,  fearfully  prescient  eyes  she 
nevertheless  gathered  all  her  faculties  for  the  final 
effort.  Cautiously  holding  her  two  cards  under 
the  table,  she  shifted  them,  interchanged  them 
back  and  forth,  then  tremulously  permitted  him 
to  draw.  This  done,  he  placidly  placed  two  fives 
on  the  table. 

There  was  a  moment  of  impressive  silence 
while  the  "  lady  "  held  before  her  eyes  in  her  baby 
ish  fingers  the  single  card,  and  gazed  petrified  on 
the  Medusa-like  visage  of  the  Old  Maid.  Then,  as 
a  murmur  of  awe  arose  from  the  other  "  ladies," 
looking  pityingly  upon  her,  yet  blissful  in  their 
own  escape,  she  burst  into  tears,  and,  bowing  her 
golden  head  in  her  arms  on  the  table,  wept  copi 
ously,  though  softly,  silently,  mindful  that  Cousin 
Leonora  allowed  no  "  loud  whooping  in  weeps," 
her  little  shoulders  shaken  by  her  sobs. 

Colonel  Ashley  could  but  laugh  as  he  protested, 
"  This  is  truly  flattering  to  masculine  vanity." 
Then,  his  kindly  impulses  uppermost,  "Come, 
Miss  Geraldine,  let's  have  another  round.  There 
must  be  more  Old  Maids  still  hiding  out  in  this 
crowd.  Let's  see  who  they  are." 

Adelaide  looked  alarmed  as  the  stricken  one 
lifted  her  head  to  the  prospect  of  the  company 
that  misery  loves. 

« I  wish  I  was  like  Cousin  Leonora,  born  a 
widow-woman,"  she  remarked,  regarding  the 
doubtful  future  askance. 

"  Widow-womans  can  marry,  —  Aunt  Chaney 


66  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

says  they  can,"  Geraldine  declared,  as  she  took 
up  the  cards  of  the  new  deal. 

"  Well,  you  would  speak  more  properer  if  you 
said  « widow-womens '  than  « widow-womans,'  "  re 
joined  the  critical  Adelaide,  rendered  tart  by  her 
renewed  jeopardy  and  the  sudden  termination  of 
the  definite  sense  of  escape. 

While  each  player's  hand  was  full  of  cards, 
the  three  queens  still  amongst  them,  the  interest 
was  not  so  tense  as  the  first  few  draws  went 
round  and  Mrs.  Gwynn's  entrance  from  the  din 
ing  room  created  some  stir. 

Baynell  and  Ashley  rose  to  offer  her  a  chair, 
and  the  latter  proposed  to  deal  her  a  hand  in 
the  game. 

"  Not  this  round,"  she  returned,  "  as  the  game 
has  already  commenced.  Besides,  I  am  quite 
chilly.  I  shall  sit  by  the  fire  and  read  the  even 
ing  paper  until  you  play  out  the  hand." 

She  seated  herself  near  the  fire,  shivered  once 
or  twice,  and  held  out  her  dainty  fingers  to  it 
with  exactly  the  utilitarian  manner  of  some 
elderly  woman,  whose  housekeeping  errands 
have  detained  her  in  the  cold,  and  who  extends 
gnarled,  misshapen,  chapped,  wrinkled  hands, 
soliciting  comfort  from  the  warmth.  Then 
she  took  up  the  paper  and  held  the  sheet  to 
catch  the  lamplight  from  the  centre-table  upon  it. 

"  Why  doesn't  she  put  on  her  <  specs '  ?  She 
knows  she  needs  them,"  Colonel  Ashley  said  to 
himself  in  a  sort  of  whimsical  exasperation. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  67 

Her  figure  was  slim  and  girlish,  sylphlike  as  she 
reclined  in  the  large  fauteuil ;  her  hair  glittered 
golden  in  the  flicker  of  the  fire  and  the 
sheen  of  the  lamp ;  her  face,  with  its  serious 
expression  intent  on  the  closely  printed  columns, 
might  almost  seem  a  sculptor's  study  of  perfect 
facial  symmetry.  Her  incongruous  indifference, 
her  elderly  assumptions,  —  if,  indeed,  she  was 
conscious  of  the  effect  of  her  manner,  —  all  be 
tokened  that  she  considered  it  no  part  of  her 
duty,  and  certainly  no  point  of  interest,  to  enter 
tain  young  men. 

"  We  are  mere  boys  to  her,  Baynell  and  I ; 
she'll  never  see  her  sixtieth  birthday  again.  I 
have  known  younger  grandmothers,"  was  Cdlonel 
Ashley's  farcical  thought. 

Her  nullity  of  attitude  toward  him  was  so 
complete  that  she  limited  the  possibilities  of  his 
imagination.  He  began  to  devote  himself  to  the 
gentle  pursuit  in  hand  with  a  freshened  ardor. 

Around  and  around  the  draw  went,  almost  in 
absolute  silence.  Now  and  again  the  tabling  of 
matching  cards  sounded  with  the  sharp  impact 
of  triumph,  but  this  was  growing  infrequent  as 
the  hands  were  thus  depleted.  The  firelight  flick 
ered  on  the  incongruous  group,  —  the  bearded 
faces  of  the  military  men,  the  gold-laced  uni 
forms,  with  buttons  glimmering  like  points  of 
light,  the  infantine  softness  of  the  "  ladies,"  with 
their  fluttering  ringlets  and  gala  attire,  the  gray 
head  and  ascetic  aspect  of  the  judge.  The  heat 


68  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

had  enhanced  the  odor  of  a  bowl  of  violets  on 
the  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room ;  as  the 
flames  rose  and  fell,  the  lion  on  the  rug  seemed 
to  stir  about,  to  rouse  from  his  lair. 

Outside  the  rain  still  fell  in  torrents ;  the 
tumult  of  the  gush  from  the  gutter  hard  by  gave 
intimations  of  great  volume  of  overflow.  At 
long  intervals  a  drop  fell  hissing  down  the  chim 
ney  on  the  coals  where  the  fire  had  burned  to  a 
white  heat.  The  wind  sang  like  a  trump,  and 
from  far  away  the  reverberations  of  a  train  of 
cars  came  with  a  sort  of  muffled  sonority  that 
was  almost  indistinguishable  from  the  vibrations 
of  the  earth.  One  hardly  knew  whether  the 
approach  of  the  train  was  felt  or  heard. 

"  I  can't  see  how  a  locomotive  can  keep  the 
rails  in  such  a  night  as  this,"  Colonel  Ashley 
remarked,  lifting  his  head  to  listen.  "  I  had 
rather  my  command  would  be  playing  the  duck 
down  there  in  the  puddles  than  crossing  that 
half-submerged  bridge  on  that  troop  train." 

"  Are  they  transporting  troops  now  ?  "  asked 
Judge  Roscoe,  casually.  He  was  a  lawyer  and 
knew  the  general  inappropriateness  and  inad- 
missibility  of  a  leading  question.  He  had,  how 
ever,  no  interest  in  the  response,  for  the  transit 
of  troops  did  not  necessarily  intimate  reenforce- 
ments  to  the  garrison,  and  hence  the  expectation 
of  attack,  but  perhaps  merely  the  intention  of 
distant  activity. 

Captain  Baynell  lifted  his  eyes  from  his  cards, 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  69 

and  a  glance  of  warning,  of  upbraiding,  flashed 
into  the  jovial  dark  eyes  of  Colonel  Ashley. 
Judge  Roscoe  perceived  it  with  surprise  and  a 
sort  of  uncomfortable  monition  that  he  and  his 
guest,  the  son  of  his  cherished  friend,  were  in 
reality  in  opposition  in  a  most  important  crisis 
of  the  life  of  each  —  in  effect,  national  enemies. 
He  had  not  thus  regarded  their  standpoint,  and 
the  idea  that  this  was  Baynell's  conviction 
wounded  him.  He  hardly  thought  the  warning 
glance  in  his  own  house  either  necessary  or  in 
good  form,  and  he  was  not  ill  pleased  to  subtly 
perceive  that  Ashley  secretly  resented  it. 

"  A  troop  train,  I  should  judge,  by  the  sound," 
Ashley  said  hardily,  his  head  still  poised  in  a  lis 
tening  pose.  "  Evidently  heavily  laden  ;  might  be 
horses,  though,"  he  continued  speculatively.  He 
would  not  submit  to  be  checked  or  disciplined 
into  prudential  considerations  by  Baynell,  espe 
cially  as  Judge  Roscoe  must  have  noted  the  warn 
ing  sign,  which  itself  would  tend  to  convert  a 
simple  casual  remark  into  a  significant  disclosure. 
He  said  to  himself  that  he  knew  the  proper  limi 
tations  of  conversation,  and  was  the  last  man  in 
the  world  to  let  slip  a  hint  that  might  by  any 
means  inform  or  even  prompt  the  enemy.  More 
over,  Judge  Roscoe  was  not  deaf,  and  could  dis 
tinguish  the  deep  rumble  of  cars  laden  with 
troops  from  the  usual  sound  of  the  running-gear 
of  a  train  of  ordinary  freight  and  passengers. 
He  went  on  casually  and  with  an  expansive 


70  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

effect  of  frankness:  "Horses,  most  probably; 
there  is  a  cavalry  regiment  in  town  that  has 
been  at  the  front  as  dismounted  troops,  and  I 
think  an  order  is  out  for  horses  for  their  use 
as  cavalry  again;  they  have  been  pressing  horses 
all  over  the  county  yesterday  and  the  day  before. 
Winstead's  troopers,  you  know,"  he  added,  ad 
dressing  Baynell.  "  I  saw  him  to-day.  He  says 
his  men  all  seem  pigeon-toed,  or  web-footed,  or 
something.  They  were  of  no  use  afoot,  although 
they  have  done  very  well  in  the  saddle." 

«An' —  an'  did  they  wear  boots  on  birds' 
feet  an'  web-toes?"  asked  the  amazed  Geral- 
dine,  innocently. 

«  Oh  —  oh,  Ger'ldine  !  "  screamed  the  superior 
Adelaide.  "  He  means  walkin'  this-a-way,"  and 
her  hands  went  across  the  table  in  a  "  toeing-in  " 
gait,  illustrative  of  the  defect  known  as  "  pigeon 
toes." 

«  Aw  —  aw  —  /  know  now !  "  said  the  in 
structed  "lady,"  wofully  out  of  countenance. 
Then  she  turned  to  draw  from  her  neighbor's 
hand  with  much  doubt  and  circumspection,  for 
the  matched  pile  in  the  centre  was  now  large 
and  the  remaining  cards  had  become  few. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Gwynn  glanced  up  from 
the  paper ;  she  had  been  reading  an  account  of  a 
recent  spirited  skirmish  at  the  front. 

"  What  is  the  difference  between  shrapnel  and 
grape-shot  ?  "  she  asked  of  the  company  at  large. 

Baynell,  the  artillery  expert,  rejoiced   to  en- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  71 

lighten  her.  He  turned  in  his  chair  and 
promptly  took  the  word  from  the  others.  Few 
experts  can  answer  any  simple  question  cate 
gorically.  Not  only  did  he  explain  the  missiles 
in  question,  but  also  how  they  had  happened  to 
be  what  they  were,  and  the  earlier  stages  of 
their  development.  He  gave  his  views  on  their 
relative  value  and  the  possibility  of  their  future 
utility, — all  while  Ashley,  who  now  sat  next  him, 
as  they  had  chanced  to  shift  their  chairs  when 
Mrs.  Gwynn  had  entered,  waited  with  quiet  and 
polite  patience  for  him  to  draw.  Baynell  did 
this  at  haphazard  at  last,  and  whether  it  was 
accident  or  Fate  that  the  significant  card  was 
practically  thrust  into  his  heedless  hand  by  the 
mischievous  Ashley,  his  countenance  fell  at 
beholding  the  prognosis  of  single  blessedness, 
so  palpably,  so  preposterously,  that  the  jovial 
Ashley  could  not  restrain  his  bantering  laughter. 
Baynell  instantly  presented  the  cards  to  him  to 
draw  in  turn,  but  either  favored  by  luck  or  hav 
ing  acquired  some  surreptitious  unfair  knowledge 
of  the  outer  aspect  of  the  card,  Ashley  avoided 
the  ill-omened  pasteboard,  and  Baynell  was  at 
last  left  with  the  single  card  in  his  hand,  while 
his  triumphant  friend  made  the  room  riotous 
with  laughter,  and  the  three  « ladies  "  bent  com 
passionate,  tender  eyes  upon  him,  as  if  they 
anticipated  the  conventional  gush  of  tears.  They 
had  grown  very  fond  of  him,  and  deeply  felt  the 
disaster  that  had  befallen  him. 


72  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"  Oh,  Captain  Baynell,  never  mind !  never 
mind  !  "  cried  the  inspirational  Adelaide.  "  We9 II 
marry  you  !  We'll  marry  you  !  You  needn't  be 
ao  anxious ! " 

Once  more  Ashley's  ringing  merriment  amazed 
the  sympathetic  "ladies." 

Lucille  cast  a  burning  glance  of  reproof  upon 
him.  Then  she  held  up  three  fingers  to  Captain 
Baynell  to  intimate  that  three  brides  awaited 
him. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Ashley.  «  Here's  a  settler 
for  Utah,  Judge.  That's  evidently  the  place  for 
this  fellow  «  when  this  cruel  war  is  over '!  " 

Judge  Roscoe  smilingly  watched  the  benignant, 
commiserating  little  countenances. 

Adelaide  had  gone  around  the  table  and  was 
hanging  on  the  arm  of  Captain  Baynell's  chair 
as  she  proffered  consolation. 

"  Colonel  Ashley  wouldn't  think  it  so  mighty 
funny  if  he  had  the  Old  Maid  !  But  don't  mind, 
Captain.  Why,  /  know  Cousin  Leonora  would 
marry  you,  if  nobody  else  would,  —  she  always 
does  anything  when  nobody  else  wants  to." 

The  silver  tones  were  singularly  clear,  and  for 
a  moment  the  group  sat  in  appalled  silence. 
Ashley  did  not  laugh,  though  his  face  was  still 
distended  with  the  risible  muscles.  It  was  like 
a  laughing  mask  —  the  form  without  the  fact. 
He  did  not  dare  even  to  glance  toward  the  chair 
where  Mrs.  Gwynn  imperturbably  perused  the 
war  news,  nor  yet  at  the  stony  terror  which  he 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  73 

felt  was  petrified  on  his  friend's  face.  At  that 
moment  a  vivid  white  light  quivered  horribly 
through  the  room  and  the  repetitious  crashing 
clamor  of  the  thunder  was  like  a  cannonade  at 
close  quarters.  A  great  fibrous  sound  of  the 
riving  of  timber  told  that  a  tree  hard  by  had 
been  split  by  the  bolt;  the  torrents  descended 
with  redoubled  force,  and  the  massive  old  house 
seemed  to  rock. 

And  in  the  moment  of  comparative  quiet  a  new, 
strange  sound  intruded  itself  on  recognition, — 
that  most  uncanny  voice,  the  cry  of  a  horse  in  the 
extremity  of  terror.  It  came  again  and  again  ;  at 
each  successive  peal  of  the  thunder  and  recurrent 
furious  flare  of  lightning  it  seemed  nearer.  It  had 
a  subterranean  effect ;  and  then  after  the  crash  of 
falling  objects,  as  if  some  barrier  had  been  over 
thrown,  the  iteration  of  unmistakable  hoof  beats 
on  stone  flagging  announced  that  there  was  a  horse 
in  the  cellar. 

This  phenomenon  obviously  indicated  an  effort 
to  save  the  animal  from  the  impress  of  horses 
for  army  service,  which  had  been  in  progress  for 
days  and  to  which  Colonel  Ashley  had  alluded. 
Far  away  in  the  wine-cellar,  in  the  safe  pre 
cincts  under  the  back  drawing-room,  which  was 
rarely  used  nowadays,  the  horse  had  evidently 
been  ensconced,  and  but  for  the  storm  his 
presence  might  have  continued  indefinitely  unde 
tected.  The  tremendous  conflict  of  the  powers 
of  the  air,  the  unfamiliar  place,  the  loneliness, 


74  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

had  stricken  the  creature  with  panic  fright,  and, 
doubtless  hearing  human  voices  in  the  library, 
he  had  overthrown  temporary  obstacles,  burst 
down  inadequate  doors,  and  following  the  genial 
sound  was  now  stamping  and  whinnying  just 
beneath  the  floor.  Colonel  Ashley,  affecting  to 
note  nothing  unusual,  dealt  the  cards  anew,  and 
commented  on  the  fury  of  the  tempest. 

"  I  fancy  you  have  lost  one  of  your  fine  ances 
tral  oaks,  Judge.  That  bolt  struck  timber  with  a 
vengeance." 

"  We  have  the  consolation  of  a  prospect  of  fire 
wood,"  responded  Judge  Roscoe.  "  But  I  doubt 
if  it  struck  only  one  of  the  trees." 

« I  think  I  never  before  saw  such  a  flash  as 
that,"  remarked  Ashley. 

The  horse  in  the  cellar  protested  that  he  never 
had.  Then  he  fairly  yelped  at  a  comparatively 
mild  suffusion  followed  by  a  dull  roar  of  thunder, 
evidently  anticipating  a  renewal  of  the  pyrotech 
nic  horrors  that  had  so  terrified  him. 

Judge  Roscoe  maintained  an  imperturbable 
aspect,  despite  a  certain  mortification  and  a  sense 
of  derogation  of  dignity.  He  recognized  this  as 
a  scheme  of  old  Ephraim's.  More  than  once  he 
had  so  contrived  the  disappearance  of  the  last 
milch  cow  that  his  master  possessed  as  to  save 
her  from  the  foraging  parties  bent  on  beef. 
Chickens  had  experiences  of  invisibility  that  were 
not  fatal,  and  though  the  carriage  pair  and  the 
judge's  saddle-horse  had  been  the  victims  of  sur- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  75 

prise,  —  impressed  long  ago, —  the  old  servant 
had  again  and  again  rescued  a  beautiful  animal 
that  Mrs.  Gwynn  owned  and  which  had  been  a 
second  gift  from  Judge  Roscoe.  Hearing'betimes 
of  the  press  orders  from  the  soldiers,  the  "  double- 
faced  Janus  "  had  besought  Judge  Roscoe  to  leave 
the  concealment  of  Acrobat  to  him ;  and,  al 
though  only  a  passive  factor  in  the  enterprise, 
Judge  Roscoe,  as  much  surprised  at  the  denoue 
ment  as  any  one  else,  was  forced  to  bear  the 
brunt  of  the  lamentable  fiasco  in  which  the 
secret  had  become  public. 

Baynell,  though  silent,  looked  extremely  an 
noyed. 

"This  rainfall  will  raise  the  river  consider 
ably,"  Ashley  commented. 

"  Shouldn't  be  surprised  if  the  lower  portions 
of  the  town  are  flooded  already,"  said  Judge 
Roscoe,  throwing  out  a  pair  of  matched  cards. 

"Those  precincts  are  very  ill  situated,"  said 
Ashley. 

The  Houyhnhnm  in  the  cellar  protested  that  he 
was,  too. 

"  High  water  must  occasion  considerable  suffer 
ing  among  the  poorer  class,"  rejoined  the  judge. 

"But  the  locality  could  have  been  easily 
avoided  in  laying  out  Roanoke  City.  Draw,  Cap 
tain — "  Ashley  broke  off  suddenly,  being  forced 
to  remind  the  preoccupied  Baynell  of  his  turn  to 
supply  his  hand. 

"The  commercial  convenience  of  wharfage  at 


76  THE  STORM   CENTRE 

low  stages  of  water  was  doubtless  the  induce 
ment,"  explained  Judge  Roscoe. 

"  To  be  sure,  —  minimizes  the  distance  for 
loading  freights,"  assented  Ashley  . 

"Yes,  the  drays  come  to  the  very  decks  of 
the  boats." 

"  That  was  a  pretty  sharp  flash,"  said  Ashley. 

"  Oh,  it  was  —  it  was  !  "  whooped  the  Hou- 
yhnhmn  from  out  the  cellar.  He  evidently  exe 
cuted  a  sort  of  intricate  passado,  to  judge  from  the 
sound  of  his  hysteric  hoofs  on  the  stone  flagging. 

"  I  hope  your  fine  grove  will  sustain  no  more 
casualties,"  said  Ashley. 

"  I  hope,  myself,  the  house  won't  be  struck," 
whimpered  the  speculative  Adelaide. 

"  Me,  too  !     Me,  too  !  "  cried  the  horse. 

"  Draw,  Captain," — once  more  Ashley  had  occa 
sion  to  rouse  the  absorbed  Baynell. 

At  every  inapposite,  disaffected  remark  that 
the  horse  in  the  cellar  saw  fit  to  interject  into 
the  conversation,  the  twins,  evidently  well  aware 
of  the  betrayal  of  the  domestic  secret  by  his  loud- 
voiced  intrusion  into  the  apartment  beneath  the 
library,  fully  apprehending  the  disaster,  at  first 
looked  aghast  at  each  other,  then  referred  it  to  the 
adjustment  of  superior  wisdom  by  a  long,  earnest 
gaze  at  their  grandfather. 

Judge  Roscoe  could  ill  sustain  the  expectation 
of  their  childish  comment.  But  he  felt  that 
his  dignity  was  involved  in  ignoring  that  aught 
was  amiss.  His  composure  emulated  Ashley's 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  77 

resolute  placidity  and  well-bred,  conventional 
determination  to  admittedly  hear  and  see  naught 
that  was  not  intentionally  addressed  by  his  host 
to  his  observation.  Baynell  gave  no  outward 
and  obvious  sign  of  notice,  but  the  subcurrent 
of  brooding  thought  that  occupied  his  mind  was 
token  of  his  evident  comprehension  and  a  nettled 
annoyance.  Perhaps  they  all  felt  the  relief  from 
the  tension  when  Ashley,  suddenly  glancing 
toward  the  window,  saw  between  the  long  red 
curtains  the  section  of  a  clearing  sky  and  the 
glitter  of  a  star. 

"The  storm  is  over,"  he  said.  «I  think, 
Judge,  we  might  venture  out  now  to  view  the 
damage.  I  trust  there  is  not  much  timber 
down." 

The  three  men  trooped  heavily  out  into  the 
hall,  and  suddenly  the  challenge  of  the  sentry 
rang  forth,  simultaneously  with  the  sound  of  the 
approach  of  horses'  hoofs  and  the  jingle  of  mili 
tary  accoutrements.  Colonel  Ashley's  groom  had 
bethought  himself  to  bring  up  his  master's 
charger  in  case  he  should  care,  since  the  weather 
had  cleared,  to  return  to  camp.  This  Ashley 
preferred,  despite  Judge  Roscoe's  cordial  insist 
ence  that  he  could  put  him  up  for  the  night 
without  the  slightest  inconvenience. 

As  Ashley  took  leave  of  the  family  and  gal 
loped  down  the  avenue  in  the  chill  damp  air, 
and  over  the  spongy  turf,  now  and  then  con 
strained  to  turn  aside  to  avoid  fallen  boughs, 


78  THE  STORM   CENTRE 

lie  had  not  even  a  vague  prevision  how  short  an 
interval  was  to  elapse  before  chance  should  bring 
him  back.  His  expectation  of  meeting  a  charm 
ing  young  lady,  with  perhaps  the  sequel  of  an 
interesting  flirtation,  in  which  all  his  best  quali 
ties  as  squire  of  dames  should  be  elicited  for  the 
admiration  of  the  fair,  —  his  preeminence  in  sing 
ing,  in  quoting  poetry,  in  saying  pretty  things,  in 
horsemanship,  above  all  the  killing  glances  of  his 
arch  dark  eyes,  to  say  naught  of  the  relish  he 
always  experienced  in  his  own  excellent  pose  as 
a  lover,  one  of  his  favorite  roles,  —  all  had  been 
nullified  by  Mrs.  Gwynn's  unresponsiveness. 
His  vanity  was  touched,  upon  reflecting  on  the 
events  of  the  evening.  He  did  not  feel  en 
treated  according  to  his  merits  by  her  atti 
tude  of  a  faded  and  elderly  widow-woman,  and 
his  relegation  to  the  puerilities  of  the  little  Old 
Maids,  or  little  "  ladies,"  or  whatever  they  called 
themselves  (certainly  not  the  first),  with  Baynell 
playing  the  stick,  and  the  old  judge  merely  a 
galvanized  Opinion.  He  resolved  that  he  would 
stick  to  camp  hereafter.  He  knew  a  game  of 
"  Draw  "  with  no  Old  Maid  in  the  pack,  and  he 
would  solace  his  spare  time  with  such  diversion 
as  it  might  afford,  and  look  to  the  drill  of  his 
squadrons. 

Nevertheless  the  moisture  of  the  storm  was 
scarcely  sun-dried  the  next  afternoon  before 
he  was  again  galloping  up  the  long  avenue  of 
the  grove  and  inquiring  of  old  Janus,  appropri- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  79 

ately  playing  janitor,  if  Captain  Baynell  were 
within,  as  he  had  some  special  business  with 
him. 

As  on  other  occasions  there  was  no  glimpse  or 
sound  of  feminine  presence  in  the  halls  or  on 
the  stairs  as  he  followed  the  old  servant  up  the 
softly  padded  ascent.  He  fancied  the  old  negro 
was  much  disaffected  ;  he  had  a  plaintive,  remon 
strant  submissiveness,  and  a  sort  of  curious, 
shadowy,  aged  look  that  seemed  a  concomitant  of 
a  sullen  reproach.  Had  they  been  beyond  ear 
shot  of  the  household,  Ashley  would  have  bidden 
the  old  man  out  with  his  grievance,  but  naught 
was  said,  and  presently  the  door  of  Captain 
Baynell's  bedroom  closed  upon  him. 

« Did  you  know  that  Tompkins  had  sent  up 
here  and  impressed  Mrs.  Gwynn's  horse  ?  " 

Baynell  had  not  risen  from  a  seat  at  an  escri 
toire,  where  he  seemed  to  have  been  writing,  and 
Ashley  was  half  across  the  room  and  had  flung 
himself  into  a  chair  before  the  fire  ere  his  friend 
could  lay  down  the  pen. 

"  Yes,  I  knew  it." 

"  Why  —  why  —  how  did  he  know  they  had 
the  animal  in  the  cellar  ?  He  was  up  here  the 
day  before  yesterday,  and  that  old  darkey  told 
him  that  the  horse  had  already  been  pressed  into 
service." 

"  He  must  have  been  put  into  the  cellar  earlier. 
You  know  we  heard  the  animal  there  last 
night." 


80  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"  Why  —  why  —  "  Colonel  Ashley  stammered 
in  his  haste  —  "  how  did  Tompkins  know  ?  " 

"  How  ?  —  why,  of  course  I  notified  him  — 
this  morning." 

Vertnor  Ashley  was  altogether  inarticulate. 
Baynell  replied  to  the  surprise  in  his  face. 

"  Why — whatever  did  you  think  I  should  do?" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  of  course !  —  as  I  held 
mine !  Why,  I  thought  you  were  a  friend  of 
these  people." 

Baynell  looked  at  him,  surprised  in  turn. 
"  And  so  I  am." 

"  And  they  have  been  kindness  itself  to  you  ! " 

"  But  do  they  expect  me  to  return  their  kind 
ness  by  helping  them  deceive  the  government,  or 
to  hold  back  supplies  the  army  needs  ?  They  are 
mistaken  if  they  do !  It  is  a  matter  of  con 
science  ! " 

"  Oh,  a  little  thing  like  that  —  "  Ashley  snapped 
his  fingers  — ."  a  lady's  horse ! " 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  conscience  !  "  Baynell  re 
iterated. 

"  I  tell  you,  my  friend,  I  wouldn't  have  such  a 
conscience  as  that  in  the  house !  It's  a  selfish 
beast  — a  raging  monster !  exceedingly  deadly  to 
the  interests  of  other  folks,"  Ashley  retorted  with 
his  bright  eyes  aglow. 

Baynell  glanced  out  of  the  great  window,  with 
its  white,  embroidered  muslin  curtains,  between 
which  he  could  see  the  ranges  in  the  distance, 
Roanoke  in  the  mid-spaces,  the  white  tents  of 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  81 

the  girdle  of  encampments  on  all  the  hillsides 
about  the  little  city ;  at  intervals,  held  in  cup- 
like  hollows,  were  great  glittering  ponds  of 
water,  the  accumulations  of  the  storm,  glassing 
the  clouds  like  mirrors,  and  realizing  to  the  eye 
the  geologist's  description  of  the  prehistoric  days 
when  lakes  were  here. 

A  sudden  suspicion  was  in  Ashley's  mind. 
His  resolution  was  taken  on  the  instant.  "  I 
hope  you  will  advance  no  objection ;  but  I  in 
tend  to  see  Mrs.  Gwynn  and  Judge  Roscoe,  and 
assure  them  that  I  had  no  part  in  giving  this 
information  to  the  quartermaster's  department." 

Baynell  looked  at  him  with  an  indignant  re 
tort  rising  to  his  lips,  then  laughed  satirically. 

"  Do  you  imagine  I  left  you  under  that  im 
putation  ?  " 

"  You  consider  it  no  imputation,  but  a  duty. 
Now  I  don't  see  my  duty  in  that  light.  And  I 
prefer  to  make  my  position  clear  to  them." 

Baynell  already  had  his  hand  on  the  bell- 
cord,  and  it  was  with  pointed  alacrity  that  he 
gave  the  order  when  old  Ephraim  appeared  — 
"Please  say  to  Mrs.  Gwynn  and  Judge  Roscoe 
that  Colonel  Ashley  and  Captain  Baynell  wish  to 
speak  to  them  a  few  minutes  on  a  matter  of 
business  if  they  are  at  leisure." 

Uncle  Ephraim,  in  whose  soul  the  misadven 
ture  about  the  horse  was  rankling  deep,  surlily 
assented,  closed  the  door,  and  took  his  way 
downstairs. 


82  THE  STORM   CENTRE 

« I  recken  you  kin  speak  ter  dem,"  he  solilo 
quized,  — "  mos'  ennything  kin  speak  hyar. 
Who'd  'a'  thought  dat  ar  horse,  dat  Ac'obat,  would 
set  out  ter  talk  ter  de  folks  in  de  lawberry,  like 
no  four-footed  one  hev'  done  since  de  days  ob 
Balaam's  ass.  But  I  ain't  never  hearn  dat  de  ass 
was  fool  enough  ter  got  hisse'f  pressed  inter  de 
Fed'ral  army.  'Fore  de  Lawd,  dat  horse  wish 
now  he  had  held  his  tongue  an'  stayed  in  de 
wine-cellar,  wid  dat  good  feed,  whar  I  put 
him." 

Once  in  the  library,  the  traits  which  so  en 
deared  Vertnor  Ashley  to  himself,  and  eke  to 
others,  were  amply  in  evidence.  He  was  gentle, 
deferential,  thoroughly  straightforward  and 
frank,  albeit  he  saw  the  subject  was  a  mortifica 
tion  to  Judge  Roscoe  and  abated  his  sense  of  his 
own  dignity  ;  still  Ashley  gave  no  offence. 

"  I  understand.  It  was  a  matter  of  conscience 
with  Captain  Baynell,"  said  Judge  Roscoe,  seek 
ing  to  dispose  of  the  question  in  few  words.  "  I 
can  have  no  displeasure  against  a  man  for  obey 
ing  the  dictates  of  his  own  conscience,  as  every 
man  must." 

"  Well,  I  am  happy  to  say  I  had  no  conscience 
in  the  matter,"  said  Colonel  Ashley. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gwynn,  with  her 
curt,  low,  icy  tone.  "We  have  indeed  fallen 
on  evil  times.  Captain  Baynell  has  conscience 
enough  to  destroy  us  all,  if  only  he  sees  fit. 
And  Colonel  Ashley,  by  his  own  admission,  has 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  83 

no  conscience  at  all.  Between  the  two  we  must 
come  to  grief." 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  trifle,"  Ashley  persisted 
smilingly,  "  brought  to  my  attention  accidentally 
on  a  hospitable  occasion.  For  aught  /  knew,  you 
might  have  a  permit,  or  the  horse  might  have  been 
a  condemned  animal,  unsound,  thus  escaping  the 
requisition.  I  had  no  orders  to  investigate  your 
domestic  affairs,  nor  to  search  for  animals  evading 
the  impress.  The  men  detailed  to  that  duty  are 
presumed  to  be  capable  of  discharging  it." 

"  I  assure  you  we  have  no  feeling  on  that  ac 
count  —  no  antagonism  —  "  began  Judge  Roscoe. 

"  I  desire  you  to  realize  that  nothing  would  have 
induced  me  to  report  the  presence  of  the  horse 
here,"  Ashley  interrupted ;  "  though,"  he  added, 
checking  himself,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  reflect  on 
Captain  Baynell's  procedure  !  " 

"  He  thought  himself  justified,  indeed  obli 
gated,"  interposed  Judge  Roscoe. 

"  Of  course  I  greatly  regretted  the  necessity, 
which  seemed  forced  on  me,  as  I  saw  the  matter," 
said  Baynell. 

"  I  fully  appreciate  that  you  take  a  different 
view,"  began  Ashley. 

"<O  give  ye  good  even.  Here's  a  million  of 
manners,'  "  quoted  Mrs.  Gwynn,  satirically,  smil 
ing  from  one  to  the  other  as  each  sought  to  press 
forward  his  own  view,  yet  to  cast  no  reflections 
on  the  probity  of  the  standpoint  of  the  other. 

Judge  Roscoe  laughed.     He  was  an  admirer  of 


84  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

what  he  called  "  understanding  in  women,"  and 
the  mere  flavor  of  a  Shakespearian  collocation  of 
words  refreshed  his  spirit  like  an  oasis  in  a  desert. 

Ashley  looked  at  her  doubtfully.  He  wondered 
that  they  could  forgive  Baynell  for  this  gratuitous 
bit  of  official  tyranny,  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
and  also  the  serious  loss  of  the  value  of  the 
horse.  He  said  to  himself  that  almost  any  rule 
is  constrained  to  exceptions.  He  thought  Bay- 
nell's  course  was  small-minded,  unjustifiable,  and 
an  ungrateful  requital  of  hospitality,  such  as  only 
important  interests  might  warrant.  He  did  not 
reckon  on  the  strength  of  the  attachment  which 
Judge  Roscoe,  despite  politics,  had  formed  for 
his  dear  friend's  son,  or  for  his  respect  for  the 
coercive  force  of  a  man's  convictions  of  the 
requirements  of  duty.  It  was  a  sort  of  Brutus- 
like  urgency  which  appealed  to  a  high  sense  of 
probity  and  which  commended  itself  to  the 
ex-judge,  accustomed  to  deal  with  subtle  differ 
entiations  of  moral  intent  as  well  as  intricate 
principles  of  sheer  law. 

As  for  Mrs.  Gwynn  —  it  was  sufficient  that 
she  had  lost  the  horse.  She  cared  too  little  for 
either  man  as  an  individual  to  consider  the  deli 
cate  adjustment  of  the  problem  of  official  integrity 
involved. 

"  I  surely  should  have  lost  every  claim  to  your 
good  opinion  if  I  had  glozed  it  over  and  passed  it 
by  for  personal  reasons,"  Baynell  argued  after 
Ashley  had  gone. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  85 

She  looked  at  him  speculatively  for  an  instant, 
wondering  what  possible  claim  he  could  fancy  he 
possessed  to  her  good  opinion. 

"  If  you  think  impressing  a  horse  is  a  recom 
mendation,  a  great  many  citizens  of  this  town 
have  cause  to  hold  the  quartermaster-general  in 
high  esteem.  A  perfect  drove  of  horses  passed 
here  this  afternoon.  I  looked  for  Acrobat,  but 
I  did  not  see  him." 

He  was  taken  aback  at  this  turn.  "  But  you 
know,  of  course,  it  was  against  my  own  will  — 
my  own  preference  —  the  horse  —  it  was  a  sac 
rifice  on  my  part !  " 

"  So  glad  to  know  it ;  I  thought  the  sacrifice 
was  mine ! " 

He  shifted  the  subject. 

"  Judge  Roscoe  has  kindly  given  me  permission 
to  stable  here  my  own  horses,  —  not  belonging  to 
the  service,  —  and  to  use  the  pasture,  and  I  hope 
you  will  ride  one  that  I  think  is  particularly  suit 
able  for  a  lady.  Judge  Roscoe,  to  show  that  he 
bears  no  malice,  is  riding  another  one  to  Roanoke 
City  this  afternoon." 

She  said  that  she  had  lost  her  equestrian  tastes. 
But  she  listened  quite  civilly  while  he  argued 
the  ethics  anew,  and,  as  her  interest  in  the  sub 
ject  had  waned  with  the  dissolving  view  of  her 
horse  and  she  did  not  care  for  the  question  in  the 
abstract,  she  did  not  controvert  his  theory  or 
relish  placing  obstacles  to  the  justification  of  his 
course. 


CHAPTER  V 

BAYNELL'S  disposition  to  recur  to  the  subject 
inaugurated  a  habit  of  conversation  with  Mrs. 
Gwynn  after  the  scholastic  hours  of  the  "  ladies," 
when  he  sat  in  the  library  through  the  long  after 
noons.  The  vast  subject  of  the  abstract  values 
of  right  and  wrong,  the  ultimate  decrees  of  con 
science,  whether  in  matters  of  great  or  minute 
importance,  might  seem  inexhaustible  in  itself. 
But  he  gradually  drifted  therefrom  into  a  discur 
sive  monologue  of  many  things.  He  began  to 
talk  of  himself  as  never  before,  as  he  had  never 
dreamed  that  he  could.  He  described  his  friends 
and  acquaintances  ;  he  rehearsed  his  experiences ; 
he  even  repeated  traditional  stories  of  his  father's 
college  life,  and  the  mad  pranks  which  the  staid 
Judge  Roscoe  had  played  in  the  callow  days  of 
their  youth,  thus  emphasizing  the  bond  of  in 
timacy  and  his  own  claim  to  recognition  as  a 
hereditary  friend ;  he  went  farther  and  detailed 
his  own  intimate  plans  for  the  future. 

Throughout  she  maintained  a  conventional 
pose  of  courteous  attention.  Surely,  he  thought, 
he  must  have  roused  some  responsive  interest. 
For  himself,  in  all  his  life,  he  had  never  experi 
enced  moments  so  surcharged  with  significance, 
with  pleasure,  with  importance. 

86 


THE  STORM   CENTRE  87 

One  day  he  concluded  a  long  exposition  of 
thought  and  conviction,  intensely  vital  to  him, 
by  making  a  direct  appeal  to  her  opinion.  She 
looked  up  with  half-startled  eyes,  then  hesita 
tingly  replied,  while  a  quick,  deep  flush  sprang 
into  her  pale  cheeks.  Elated,  confident,  victo 
rious,  he  beheld  the  color  rise  and  glow,  and 
noted  her  lingering,  conscious  embarrassment; 
for  the  subject  was  unimportant  save  as  it  con 
cerned  him,  and  why,  but  for  his  sake,  should 
she  blush  and  falter  in  sweet  confusion  ? 

How  could  he  know  that  hardly  one  word  in 
ten  had  she  heard  !  Absent,  absorbed,  she  was 
silently  turning  again  and  again  the  ashes  of  the 
dead  past,  while  he,  insistently,  clamorously, 
was  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  living  present. 

Step  by  step  she  had  been  retracing  her  early 
foolish  fondness  for  the  man  who  had  been  her 
husband.  How  could  she  have  been  so  blind  ! 
she  was  asking  herself.  Why  could  she  not 
have  seen  him  with  the  eyes  of  others,  —  that 
wise,  kindly,  far-sighted  vision  which  scanned 
the  present  with  caution  for  her  sake,  and  by  its 
gauge  measured  the  future  with  an  unerring  and  an 
appalled  accuracy  ?  How  contemptuously,  like  a 
heroine  of  romance  indeed,  she  had  flouted  the 
well-meant  opposition  of  her  relatives  to  her 
marriage !  They  had  proved  wise  prophets. 
Drunkard,  gambler,  spendthrift,  he  had  wrecked 
her  fortune  and  embittered  her  whole  life.  The 
two  years  she  had  spent  with  him  seemed  an  aeon 


88  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

of  misery.  They  had  obliterated  the  past  as  well 
as  excluded  the  future.  Somehow  she  could  not 
look  beyond  them  into  her  earlier  days  save  upon 
those  gradations  of  events  —  the  swift  courtship, 
the  egregious,  headstrong,  romantic  resolution,  the 
foolish  love  founded  on  false  ideals  which  led  her 
at  last  to  the  altar,  so  confiding,  so  happy,  so  dis 
dainful  of  the  grave  faces  and  the  disapproving 
shaking  heads  of  all  her  elder  kith  and  kindred,  so 
triumphant  in  setting  them  at  naught  and  enhanc 
ing  Rufus  Gwynn's  victory  with  the  quelling  of 
their  every  claim. 

In  these  long,  quiet  afternoons  she  would 
silently  canvass  humiliating  details  —  when  was 
it  that  she  had  first  known  him  for  the  liar  he 
was;  when  had  she  admitted  to  herself  his  in 
herent  falsity  ?  Even  the  truth  had  faltered  for 
his  sake.  She  had  eagerly  sought  to  deceive 
herself  —  to  gloze  over  his  lies,  now  told  for  a 
purpose,  and  constrained  to  their  misleading  de 
vice,  now  thrown  off  without  intention  or  effect, 
as  if  the  false  were  the  more  native  incident  of 
his  moral  atmosphere.  Perhaps,  with  the  love 
that  possessed  her,  she,  too,  might  have  acquired 
the  proclivity ;  she  meditated  on  this  possibility 
with  a  bowed  head.  At  first,  when  he  lied  to 
her,  she  herself  could  not  distinguish  the  truth 
from  the  false  in  his  words.  She  had  found 
herself  at  sea  without  a  rudder.  However  she 
might  have  desired  to  protect  him,  whether 
she  might  have  bent  in  time  to  deceit  for  his 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  89 

sake,  there  is  a  sort  of  monopoly  in  falsehood. 
It  is  a  game  at  which  two  cannot  play  to  good 
effect.  The  first  time  he  struck  her  full  in  the 
face  was  in  the  fury  which  possessed  him,  when, 
through  her  agency,  a  lie  had  been  fairly  fixed 
upon  him.  She  had  given  him  as  her  authority 
for  a  statement  she  made  to  Judge  Roscoe,  and 
her  uncle  had,  in  repeating  it  to  him,  discovered 
the  lie  —  the  blatant  open  lie  —  that  could  not 
be  qualified  or  gainsaid. 

And  she  had  forgiven  this,  both  the  word  and 
the  blow.  How  strange  !  She  made  allowances 
for  his  irritation,  for  his  mortification  at  the  dis 
covery  by  a  man  so  upright,  so  ascetic,  so  un 
sympathetic  with  any  moral  weakness  as  Judge 
Roscoe.  She  offered  to  herself  excuses  which 
even  she,  however,  in  her  inmost  soul,  hardly 
accepted  —  for  the  lie  itself  !  He  desired  to 
avoid  reproaches  for  mistaken  arrangements 
about  money  matters,  she  had  said  to  herself; 
he  shrank  from  contention  with  her  thus.  Never 
dreaming  that  she  might  be  questioned,  he  had 
been  led  to  palliate,  to  distort  the  facts.  For 
at  first  she  would  have  no  traffic  with  the  ignoble 
word  "  lie."  The  restrictions  of  her  own  phrases 
began  to  have  a  sort  of  terror  for  her.  She  could 
no  longer  talk  freely.  She  hardly  dared  make 
the  most  obvious  statement  concerning  any  sim 
ple  fact  of  household  affairs,  or  amusements,  or 
visits,  or  friends,  lest,  in  his  prodigal  untruth, 
for  no  reason,  —  the  abandonment  of  folly,  or  a 


90  THE  STORM   CENTRE 

momentary  whim,  —  he  should  have  committed 
himself  and  her  unequivocally  to  some  differ 
ent  effect.  She  hesitated,  stammered,  when  she 
was  in  company,  —  faltered,  blushed,  —  she  who 
used  to  be  so  different!  —  while  all  her  world 
stared.  And  when  they  were  alone,  he  would 
storm  at  her  for  it,  furiously  mimicking  her  dis 
tressful  uncertainty,  her  tremulous  solicitude  lest 
she  openly  convict  him  of  lying  continually.  She 
sought  to  give  him  no  occasion  for  anger,  not 
that  she  so  dreaded  the  hurt  of  his  heavy  hand, 
but  that  she  might  save  him  from  the  ignominy 
of  striking  his  wife.  She  studied  his  face  and 
conformed  to  his  whims,  and  anticipated  his 
wants,  and  forbore  vexation.  Her  subjection 
was  so  obvious  that  while  her  own  near  friends 
raged  inwardly,  divining  that  he  was  unkind, 
their  casual  acquaintance  sportively  fleered,  never 
dreaming  how  their  arrows  sped  to  the  mark. 

Their  fleers  nettled  him ;  he  was  specially  out 
of  countenance  one  day  because  of  a  careless 
shaft  of  Mildred  Fisher's. 

"It  is  one  of  the  beautiful  aspects  of  matri 
mony  that  the  law  once  recognized  the  right  of 
a  man  to  correct  his  wife  with  <a  stick  not 
thicker  than  his  thumb ' ;  let  me  see  the  size  of 
your  thumb,  Mr.  Gwynn,  —  it  must  be  that 
which  keeps  Leonora  in  this  edifying  state  of 
subjection." 

And  when  she  had  gayly  gone  her  way,  Rufus 
Gwynn  bitterly  upbraided  his  wife. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  91 

"  Damn  you !  "  he  had  cried  ;  "  can't  you  hold 
up  your  head  at  all?" 

Then  it  was  that  she  had  donned  her  most 
charming  toilette  —  a  dress  of  heavy  white  satin 
simple  yet  queenly  —  and  had  gone  to  one  of 
those  balls  of  the  early  times  of  the  Confederacy, 
where  the  cavaliers  were  many  and  gay ;  she  was 
all  smiles  and  bright  eyes,  though  these  were  the 
only  jewels  she  wore,  for  had  she  not  discovered 
at  the  moment  of  opening  the  case  that  her  dia 
monds —  Rufus  Gwynn's  own  bridal  gift  to  her 
—  were  missing !  —  sold,  pawned,  given  away,  it 
was  never  known.  Thus  seeking  her  duty  in 
these  devious  ways  and  to  do  his  choice  credit, 
as  a  wife  should,  her  charm  held  a  court  about 
her,  —  even  Mildred  Fisher,  who  loved  splendor, 
ablaze  with  the  collection  of  precious  stones  at  her 
disposal,  her  mother's,  her  grandmother's,  and  her 
aunt's,  was  eclipsed.  The  glittering  officers  fol 
lowed  the  beautiful  young  wife  in  the  promenade, 
and  stood  about  and  awaited  the  cessation  of  the 
whirl  as  she  waltzed  with  one  of  the  number, 
and  devoutly  held  her  bouquet  while  in  the  ban 
queting  room,  and  drank  her  health  and  toasted 
her  happiness,  and  broke  her  fan,  soliciting  a 
breeze  for  her  comfort.  The  result  ?  —  When  in 
the  carriage  homeward  bound,  she  was  fit  to 
throw  herself  out  of  the  window  and  under  the 
wheels  in  sheer  terror  of  the  demon  of  jealousy 
she  had  aroused.  Her  husband  loaded  her  with 
curses,  he  foamed  at  the  mouth  as  he  threatened 


92  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

the  men  with  whom  she  had  danced,  more  than 
one  of  whom  he  had  himself  introduced  for  the 
purpose.  He  protested  he  would  shoot  Julius 
Roscoe  because  he  had  not  asked  her  to  dance, 
but  had  turned  pale  when  he  saw  her,  and  had 
stood  in  the  shadows  of  the  columns  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  ball  room  and  with  melancholy,  love 
lorn  eyes  watched  her  in  the  waltz.  When  she 
declared  she  had  not  seen  Julius,  she  had  not 
spoken  to  him  — "  You  dare  not ! "  he  cried. 
And  but  that  she  clutched  his  arm,  he  would 
have  sprung  from  the  vehicle  in  motion  to  hide 
in  the  shrubbery  —  the  pine  hedge  —  as  they 
passed  Judge  Roscoe's  gate,  to  shoot  Julius  in 
the  back  as  he  went  home  from  the  ball,  —  in 
the  back,  in  the  darkness,  from  ambush,  that 
none  might  know  !  Then  as  her  husband  could 
not  force  himself  from  her  grasp,  he  turned  and 
struck  her  across  the  face  twice,  heavily. 

All  her  soldier  friends,  old  playmates,  youthful 
compeers,  elder  associates,  marched  away  with 
out  a  farewell  word  from  her, — a  last  farewell 
it  would  have  been  to  many,  who,  alack,  came 
never  marching  back  again ;  for  she  was  denied 
at  the  door  to  all  callers,  since  her  bruises  were 
so  deep  and  lacerated  that  she  must  needs  keep 
her  room  in  order  that  the  conjugal  happiness 
might  not  be  impugned.  For  still  she  made  ex 
cuses  for  Gwynn,  sought  to  shield  him  from  him 
self.  He  had  begun  to  drink  heavily  under  the 
sting  of  the  universal  financial  disasters  occa- 


THE  STORM  CENTRE  93 

sioned  by  the  war  which  he  also  shared,  supple 
mented  by  heavy  losses  at  the  gaming  table  and 
the  race  track  and  often  « was  not  himself,"  as 
she  phrased  it.  He  was  expert  at  repentance, 
practised  in  confession,  and  had  a  positive  ingenu 
ity  for  shifting  responsibility  to  stronger  should 
ers.  He  could  burst  into  torrents  of  protesting 
tears,  and  dramatically  fling  himself  on  his  knees 
at  her  feet,  and  bury  his  face  in  her  hands,  cover 
ing  them  with  kisses,  and  craving  her  pardon 
and  help.  And  she  would  once  more,  inconsis 
tently,  hopefully,  take  up  her  faith  in  him  anew, 
albeit  it  had  all  the  tearful  tremors  of  despair,  — 
believing,  yet  doubting,  with  a  strange  duality 
of  emotion  impossible  to  the  analysis  of  reason. 
Thus  the  curtain  was  rung  up  again,  and  the 
terrible  tragedy  of  her  life  on  this  limited  stage 
went  on  apace. 

He  had  infinite  ingenuity  in  concealment, 
abetted  by  her  silence  in  suffering  which  her 
pride  fostered.  Albeit  her  friends  had  divined 
his  unkindness,  the  extent  of  his  brutality  was 
not  suspected  by  them  until  one  night  when 
frightful  screams  had  been  heard  to  issue  from 
the  house,  despite  the  closed  and  shuttered  win 
dows  of  winter  weather.  These  were  elicited 
by  the  sheer  agony  of  being  dragged  by  the  hair 
through  the  rooms  and  halls  and  down  the  stairs, 
and  thrust  out  into  the  chill  of  the  fierce  January 
freeze.  She  was  given  hardly  time  for  the  instinct 
of  flight  to  assert  itself,  to  rise  up  with  wild  eyes 


94  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

looking  adown  the  snowy  street ;  for  the  door 
opened,  and  he  dragged  her  within  once  more, 
as  a  watchman  of  the  precinct,  Roanoke  City 
being  at  this  time  heavily  policed,  ascended  the 
steps  to  the  portico  with  an  inquiry  as  to  the 
sound.  He  was  satisfied  with  the  explanation 
from  the  husband  that  Mrs.  Gwynn  was  suffer 
ing  with  a  violent  attack  of  hysterics.  But  the 
next  day,  while  the  mistress  of  the  house,  bruised 
and  almost  shattered,  lay  half  unconscious  in  her 
own  room,  the  housemaid,  in  the  hall  polishing 
the  stair  rail  and  wainscot,  was  terrified  to  draw 
out  here  and  there  from  the  balusters  great 
bloody  lengths  of  Mrs.  Gwynn's  beautiful  hair 
which  had  caught  and  held  as  she  was  dragged 
by  it  down  the  stairs.  This  rumor,  taken  in 
connection  with  the  explanation  of  her  screams 
offered  by  her  husband  to  the  watchman,  occa 
sioned  Mrs.  Gwynn's  relatives  great  anxiety  for 
her  safety.  It  was  with  the  view  of  discovering 
from  her  the  truth,  insisting  on  its  disclosure  as  a 
matter  of  paramount  importance,  that  Judge  Ros- 
coe  as  her  nearest  kinsman  and  former  guardian 
had  suggested  a  ride  with  her,  when  in  the  quiet 
of  an  uninterrupted  conversation  he  intended  to 
remonstrate  against  her  lack  of  candor,  seek  to 
ascertain  the  facts,  and  then  devise  some  measures 
looking  toward  the  betterment  of  the  unhappy 
situation. 

The  slaughter  by  Rufus  Gwynn  of  the  unof 
fending  horse  had  eliminated  the  necessity  alike 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  95 

of  remonstrance  or  advice.  Her  ideals,  her  hope, 
her  love,  were  destroyed  as  by  one  blow.  Her 
resolution  of  separation  was  taken  and,  albeit  her 
anxious  friends  feared  her  capacity  for  forgive 
ness  was  not  exhausted,  it  proved  final.  The 
end  came  on  the  day  that  Rufus  Gwynn's  horse, 
rearing  under  whip  and  spur,  and  falling,  broke 
his  rider's  neck. 

This  was  her  romance  and  her  awakening  from 
love's  young  dream.  These  were  the  scenes  that 
she  lived  over  and  over.  This  was  her  past  that 
every  moment  of  leisure  converted  into  her  present, 
—  palpable,  visible,  vital, — and  her  future  seemed 
bounded  only  by  the  possibilities  of  retrospect. 

With  the  many-thonged  scourge  of  her  mem 
ory  how  could  she  listen  to  the  monologue  of  this 
stranger !  Thus  it  was  that  her  attentive  attitude 
was  suddenly  stultified  by  his  direct  appeal  to  her. 
Thus  she  had  reddened  and  faltered  in  embar 
rassment  for  the  rude  solecism,  and  gathered  her 
faculties  for  some  hesitant  semblance  of  polite 
response. 

Lapsed  in  the  delight  of  his  fool's  paradise,  Bay- 
nell  discerned  naught  of  the  truth.  Left  presently 
alone  in  the  library,  he  serenely  watched  through 
the  long  window  the  slow  progress  of  the  shadows 
following  the  golden  vernal  sunshine  throughout 
the  grove.  The  wind  faintly  stirred,  barely  enough 
to  shake  the  bells  of  the  pink  and  darkly  blue 
hyacinths  standing  tall  and  full  in  the  parterre  at 
one  side  of  the  house.  The  plangent  tone  of  a 


96  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

single  key,  struck  on  the  grand  piano,  fell  on  the 
stillness  within,  and  after  a  time  another,  and 
slowly  still  another,  in  doubting  ascension  of  the 
gamut,  as  one  of  the  "  ladies  "  submitted  to  the  cru 
elty  of  a  music  lesson.  His  lip  smilingly  curved 
at  the  thought.  And  still  gazing  out  in  serene 
languor,  all  unprescient,  he  once  more  noted  the 
spring  sun  of  that  momentous  day  slowly  wester 
ing,  westering. 

A  red  sky  it  found  at  the  horizon ;  a  chill 
wind  starting  up  over  a  purple  earth  spangled 
with  golden  camp-fires.  Presently  the  world 
was  sunk  in  a  slate-tinted  gloom,  and  the  night 
came  on  raw  and  dark,  with  moon  and  stars 
showing  only  in  infrequent  glimpses  through 
gusty  clouds.  A  great  fire  had  burned  out  on 
the  library  hearth  ;  the  group  had  genially  sat 
together  till  the  candles  were  guttering  in  their 
sockets  in  the  old  crystal-hung  candelabra.  Judge 
Roscoe  still  lingered,  smoking,  meditating  before 
the  embers.  All  the  house  was  asleep,  silent  save 
for  the  martial  tread  of  the  sentry  walking  to 
and  fro  before  the  portico.  Suddenly  Judge 
Roscoe  heard  a  sound,  alien,  startling,  —  a  sound 
at  the  side  window.  The  room  was  illumined 
by  a  pervasive  red  glow  from  the  embers,  in 
which  he  saw  his  own  shadow,  gigantic,  gesticu- 
latory,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet,  listening  again  to 
—  silence  !  Only  the  wind  rustling  in  the  lilac 
hedge,  only  the  ring  of  the  sentry's  step,  crisp 
and  clear  on  the  frosty  air. 


THE  STORM   CENTRE  97 

The  moment  that  the  soldier  turned  to  retrace 
his  way  to  the  farther  side  of  the  house,  there 
came  once  more  that  grating  sound  at  the  win 
dow,  distinct,  definite,  of  sinister  import. 

For  one  instant  Judge  Roscoe  was  tempted  to 
call  for  the  sentry's  aid.  The  next  the  shutter 
opened,  the  sash  glided  up  noiselessly,  and,  as 
the  old  gentleman  gazed  spellbound  with  start 
ing  eyes  and  chin  a-quiver,  a  tiny  flame  flickered 
up,  keenly  white  amongst  the  embers,  illuminat 
ing  the  room,  revealing  the  object  at  the  window. 
Only  for  one  moment ;  for  in  a  frenzy  of  energy 
Judge  Roscoe  had  caught  up  the  heavy  velvet 
rug  and,  as  he  held  it  against  the  aperture  of  the 
chimney,  the  room  once  more  sunk  into  indistin 
guishable  gloom ;  the  sudden  bounding  entrance 
of  an  agile  figure  was  wholly  invisible  to  the 
sentry,  albeit  he  was  almost  immediately  under 
the  window,  peering  in  with  a  stern  "  Who  goes 
there  ?  " 

"  There  seems  something  amiss  with  the  catch 
of  the  shutter,"  said  the  placid  voice  of  the  mas 
ter  of  the  house,  who  had  left  the  rug  still  stand 
ing  on  its  thick  edge  before  the  chimney  place. 
"  Can  you  help  me  there  ?  Thank  you  very 
much." 

The  sentry  muttered  a  sheepish  apology,  plead 
ing  the  unusual  noise  at  this  hour.  His  excuse 
was  cheerfully  accepted.  "  It  is  well  to  be  on 
the  alert.  Good  night!" 

"  Good   night,  sir ! "     And   once   more    there 


98  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

sounded  through   the    sombre    air    the   martial 
beat  of  the  sentry's  tread  on  the  frosty  ground. 

Then  two  men  in  the  darkness  within,  reach 
ing  out  in  the  gloom,  fell  into  each  other's  arms 
with  tears  of  joy,  but  presently  reproaches  too. 
"  Oh,  my  son,  my  son  !  why  did  you  come  here  ?  " 

"  Came  a-visiting ! "  said  a  voice  out  of  the 
obscurity,  with  a  boy's  buoyant  laughter.  "  The 
picket-lines  are  so  close  to-night,  I  couldn't  resist 
slipping  in.  Is  Leonora  here  ?  How  are  my 
dear  little  nieces,  —  the  « ladies '  ?  " 
.  "  Oh,  Julius  !  My  boy,  this  is  so  dangerous ! " 

"I'd  risk  ten  times  more  to  hear  your  dear 
voice  again  —  "  with  a  rib-cracking  hug  —  "  only 
think,  father,  it's  more  than  two  years  now  since 
I  have  seen  you !  I  want  to  see  Leonora  ten 
minutes  and  kiss  the  <  ladies,'  and  then  I'm  off 
again  in  a  day  or  so,  and  none  the  wiser." 

"  No,  no,  that  is  out  of  the  question !  No  one 
must  know.  The  camps  are  too  close ;  you  must 
have  seen  them,  even  in  the  grove." 

«  Why,  I  can  lie  low." 

«  And  there  is  a  —  "  Judge  Roscoe  hardly  knew 
how  to  voice  it  —  "a  —  a  Yankee  officer  in  the 
house." 

"  Thunderation !  The  dickens  there  is ! 
Why  —  " 

"  There  is  no  time  to  explain ;  you  must  go 
back  at  once,  while  the  Federal  pickets  are  so 
close,  and  you  can  slip  through  the  line.  It's 
just  at  the  creek." 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  99 

"  But  they  have  thrown  it  out  since  dark,  five 
miles.  Our  fellows  skedaddled  back  to  their 
support.  And  I  tell  you  it  will  never  do  for  me 
to  be  caught  inside  the  lines.  The  Yankees  might 
think  I  was  spying  around  !  " 

Judge  Roscoe  turned  faint  and  sick.  Then, 
rising  to  the  emergency,  and  considering  the  sus 
picions  the  sound  of  voices  here  at  this  hour  of 
the  night  might  excite  in  the  mind  of  the  sentry, 
he  grasped  his  son's  arm,  with  a  warning  clutch 
imposing  silence,  and  led  him  along  the  dark 
hall,  groping  up  the  staircase.  As  the  boy  was 
about  to  bolt  in  the  direction  of  his  former 
chamber,  his  father  turned  the  corner  to  the 
second  flight. 

«  Sky  parlor,  is  it  ?  "  the  young  daredevil  mut 
tered,  as  they  stumbled  together  up  the  steep 
ascent  to  the  garret. 

A  dreary  place  it  showed  as  they  entered,  large, 
low  ceiled,  extending  above  the  whole  expanse  of 
the  square  portion  of  the  house.  It  was  lighted 
only  by  the  windows  at  either  side  ;  through  one 
of  these  pale  watery  glimmers  were  falling  from 
a  moon  which  rolled  heavily  like  a  derelict  in  the 
surges  of  the  clouds.  This  sufficed  to  show  to 
each  the  other's  beloved  face ;  and  that  Judge 
Roscoe's  ribs  were  not  fractured  in  the  hugs  of 
the  filial  young  bear  betokened  the  enduring 
strength  of  his  ancient  physique. 

The  place  was  sorely  neglected  since  the  reduc 
tion  of  the  service  in  the  old  house.  Cobwebs  had 


100  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

congregated  about  ceiling  and  windows ;  the  dust 
was  thick  on  rows  of  old  trunks,  which  anno 
tated  the  journeyings  of  the  family  since  the  hair- 
covered,  brass-studded  style  was  the  latest  fashion 
to  the  sole  leather  receptacle  that  bore  the  ini 
tials  of  Judge  Roscoe's  dead  wife,  and  the  gigan 
tic  "  Saratoga  "  that  had  served  in  Mrs.  Gwynn's 
famous  wedding  journey.  There  were  many 
specimens  of  broken  chairs,  and  some  glimmering 
branching  girandoles,  five  feet  high,  that  had 
illumined  the  house  at  one  of  the  great  weddings 
of  long  ago.  A  large  cedar  chest,  proof  against 
moths,  preserved  the  ancient  shawls  and  gowns 
of  beauties  of  bygone  times,  who  little  thought 
this  ephemeral  toggery  would  survive  them. 
Certain  antiquated  pieces  of  furniture,  hardly 
meet  for  the  more  modern  assortment  below, 
—  chests  of  drawers  surmounted  by  quaint  little 
cabinets  with  looking-glasses,  a  lumbering  ward 
robe  that  seemed  built  for  high  water  and  stood 
on  four  long  stilt-like  legs,  a  pair  of  old  mantel  mir 
rors,  wide  and  low,  with  tarnished  gilded  frames, 
dividing  the  reflecting  surface  into  three  equal 
sections,  a  great  barometer  that  surlily  threatened 
stormy  weather,  clumsy  bureaus,  bedsteads,  each 
with  four  tall  "cluster  posts"  surmounted  by 
testers  of  red,  quilled  cloth  drawn  to  a  brass  star  in 
the  centre,  fire-dogs  and  fenders  of  dull  brass  —  all 
were  grouped  here  and  there.  One  of  these  bed 
steads  had  been  occupied  on  some  occasion  when 
the  house  had  been  overcrowded,  for  the  cords 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  101 

that  sufficed  in  lieu  of  the  more  modern  slats 
now  supported  a  huge  feather-bed.  Judge  Roscoe 
threw  on  it  a  carriage  rug  that  had  been  hung 
to  air  on  a  cord  which  was  stretched  across  one 
corner  of  the  room.  He  almost  fainted  at  a  sud 
den,  frightened  clutch  upon  his  arm,  and,  turning, 
saw  his  son  in  the  agonies  of  panic,  his  teeth  chat 
tering,  his  eyes  starting  out  of  his  head,  his  hand 
pointing  tremulously  toward  the  bed,  as  if  be 
reft  of  his  senses,  demanding  to  be  informed  what 
that  object  might  be.  It  was  the  time-honored 
joke  of  the  young  Southern  soldiers  that  they  had 
not  seen  or  slept  in  a  bedstead  for  so  long  that 
the  mere  sight  of  so  unaccustomed  a  thing  threw 
them  into  convulsions  of  fear.  His  father  for 
gave  the  genuine  tremors  the  joke  had  occasioned 
him  for  the  joker's  sake,  and  as  Julius,  flinging 
off  his  cap,  coat,  and  boots,  stretched  out  at  his 
long  length  luxuriously,  he  stood  by  the  pillow 
and  admonished  him  of  the  plan  of  the  campaign. 
The  Yankee  officer  had  been  ill,  Judge  Roscoe 
explained,  and,  convalescing  now,  joined  the  fam 
ily  in  their  usual  gathering  places  —  the  library, 
dining  room,  on  the  portico,  in  the  grove.  If 
Leonora  or  the  "ladies  "  knew  of  the  presence  here 
of  Julius,  they  could  hardly  preserve  in  this  close 
association  with  the  enemy  an  unaffected  aspect ; 
so  significant  a  secret  might  be  betrayed  in  facial 
expression,  a  tone  of  voice,  a  nervous  start.  This 
would  be  fatal ;  his  life  might  prove  the  forfeit. 
It  was  a  mistake  to  come,  and  this  mistake  must 


102  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

forthwith  be  annulled.  Despite  the  man  in  the 
house,  Julius  could  lie  perdu  here  in  the  garret, 
observing  every  precaution  of  secrecy,  till  the 
ever  shifting  picket-line  should  be  drawn  close 
enough  to  enable  him  to  hope  to  reach  it  without 
challenge.  They  would  confide  in  trusty  old 
Ephraim.  He  would  maintain  a  watch  and  bring 
them  news.  And  old  Ephraim,  too,  would  bring 
up  food,  cautiously  purloined  from  the  table. 

"  The  typical  raven !  appropriately  black ! " 
murmured  Julius. 

"  Are  you  hungry  now,  dear  ?  "  Judge  Roscoe 
asked  disconsolately,  after  telling  him  that  he 
must  wait  till  morning. 

"  If  you  have  such  a  thing  as  the  photograph 
of  a  chicken  about  you,  I  should  be  glad  to  see 
it,"  Julius  murmured  demurely. 

Judge  Roscoe  bent  down  and  kissed  him  good 
night  on  the  forehead,  then  turned  to  pick  his 
way  carefully  among  the  debris  of  the  old  furni 
ture.  Soon  he  had  reached  the  stairway,  and 
noiseless  as  a  shadow  he  flitted  down  the  flight. 

The  young  officer  lay  for  a  while  intently  lis 
tening,  but  no  stir  reached  his  ear ;  naught ;  abso 
lute  stillness.  For  a  long  time,  despite  his  fatigue, 
the  change,  the  pleasant  warmth,  the  soft  luxury  of 
the  feather-bed,  would  not  let  him  slumber.  He 
was  used  to  the  canopy  of  heaven,  the  chill  ground, 
the  tumult  of  rain ;  the  sense  of  a  roof  above  his 
head  was  unaccustomed,  and  he  was  stiflingly 
aware  of  its  propinquity.  Nevertheless  he  con- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  103 

trasted  its  comfort  with  his  own  recent  plight 
and  that  of  his  comrades  a  few  miles  away,  lying 
now  asleep  under  the  security  of  their  camp-guards, 
some  still  in  the  mud  of  the  trenches,  all  on  the 
cold  ground,  shelterless,  half  frozen,  half  starved, 
ill,  destitute,  but  fired  with  a  martial  ardor  and 
a  zeal  for  the  Southern  cause  which  no  hard 
ship  could  damp,  and  only  death  itself  might 
quench.  As  he  gazed  about  at  the  grotesqueries 
of  the  great  room,  now  in  the  sheen  of  the  moon, 
and  now  in  the  shadow  of  the  cloud,  he  thought 
how  little  he  had  anticipated  finding  the  enemy 
here  ensconced  in  his  place  in  his  father's  house, 
a  convalescent,  "the  son  of  an  old  friend,  of 
whom  we  have  all  grown  very  fond."  He  raged 
inwardly  at  the  destruction  of  his  cherished  plans 
wrought  by  the  mere  presence  of  the  Federal  offi 
cer.  The  joy  of  his  visit  was  brought  to  naught. 
Dangerous  as  it  would  have  been  under  the  best 
auspices,  its  peril  was  now  great  and  imminent. 
Instead  of  the  meeting  his  thoughts  had  cherished, 
—  the  sweets  of  the  stolen  hours  at  the  domestic 
fireside,  with  the  dear  faces  that  he  loved,  the 
dulcet  voices  for  which  he  yearned,  —  he  was  to 
skulk  here,  undreamed  of,  like  some  unhappy 
ghost  haunting  a  lonely  place,  fortunate  indeed  if 
he  might  chance  to  be  able  to  make  off  elusively 
after  the  fashion  of  the  spectral  gentry,  without 
becoming  a  ghost  in  serious  earnest  by  the  event 
of  capture,  or  catching  the  pistol  ball  of  the 
Yankee  officer.  So  much  he  had  risked  for  this 


104  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

visit  —  life  and  limb  !  —  and  to  be  relegated  to 
the  surplusage  of  the  garret,  the  loneliness,  the 
desolate  moon,  the  deserted  dust  of  the  unfre 
quented  place !  He  was  to  approach  none  of 
them — none  of  the  hearthstone  group!  There 
was  to  be  no  joyous  greeting,  no  stealthy  laugh 
ter,  no  interchange  of  loving  words,  and  clasps, 
and  kisses.  He  was  still  young  ;  his  eyes  filled, 
his  throat  closed.  But  that  shadowy  glimpse  of 
his  dear  father  —  he  had  had  that  boon  ! 

"  I'll  remember  it,  if  I  bite  the  dust  in  the 
next  skirmish.  And  the  question  is  to  get  away 
—  for  the  next  skirmish  ! " 

Once  more  he  fell  to  studying  mechanically 
the  grouping  of  the  archaic,  disordered  furniture  ; 
the  shifting  of  the  shadows  amongst  it  as  a  cloud 
sped  by  with  the  wind ;  the  spare  boughs  of  a  bare 
aspen  tree  etched  on  the  floor  by  the  moon,  shin 
ing  down  through  the  high  windows ;  and  that 
melancholy  orb  itself,  suggestive  of  a  futile  van 
ished  past,  a  time  forgotten,  and  spent  illusions, 
the  familiar  of  loneliness,  and  the  deep  empty 
hours  of  the  midnight  —  itself  a  spectre  of  a 
dead  planet,  haunting  its  wonted  pathway  of  the 
skies.  When  its  light  ceased  to  fill  his  lustrous, 
contemplative  eyes  he  did  not  know,  but  as  the 
moon  passed  on  to  the  west,  his  melancholy  gaze 
had  ceased  to  follow. 


CHAPTER   VI 

•j 

JOY  came  in  the  morning  when  the  raven 
alighted.  The  "  two-faced  Janus  "  was  wreathed 
in  smiles,  bent  double  with  chuckles,  and  tears 
of  delight  sparkled  in  his  eyes. 

« How  dee  is  growed ! "  he  whispered  cau 
tiously.  "  Mannish  now,  fur  true.  Gawd  !  de 
handsomest  one  ob  de  fam'ly  ! "  For,  with  the 
refreshment  of  sleep  and  the  substance,  not 
merely  the  similitude,  of  fried  chicken,  waffles, 
and  coffee,  Julius,  in  the  gray  uniform  of  a  first 
lieutenant,  made  a  very  gallant  show  despite  the 
incongruities  of  the  piled-up  lumber  of  the  old 
garret.  He  had  a  keen,  high,  alert  profile,  his 
nose  a  trifle  aquiline;  his  complexion  was  fair 
and  florid ;  his  eyes  were  a  fiery  brown,  his 
hair,  of  the  same  rich  tint,  was  now  and  again 
tossed  impatiently  backward,  the  style  of  the  day 
being  an  inconvenient  length,  for  it  was  worn  to 
hang  about  the  collar.  He  had  a  breezy,  off 
hand,  impetuous  manner,  evidently  only  bridled 
in  by  rigorous  training  to  decorous  forms,  and 
he  stood  six  feet  one  inch  in  his  stockings,  taller 
now  by  one  inch  more  in  his  boots,  which  the  old 
servant  had  helped  him  to  draw  on.  "Lawd-a- 
massy !  dis  de  baby  ? "  cried  the  old  negro, 

105 


106  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

admiringly,  still  on  his  knees,  contemplating  the 
young  officer  as  he  took  a  turn  through  the 
apartment  with  his  straight-brimmed  cap  on 
his  head  and  his  hand  on  his  sword.  "  'Fore 
Gawd,  whut  sorter  baby  is  dis  yere  —  over  six 
feet  high  ?  " 

"Wish  I  was  a  baby  for  about  two  hours, 
Uncle  Ephraim  !  You  could  carry  me  <  pickaback ' 
through  the  Yankee  lines  !  " 

"Hue-come  ye  run  dem  lines,  Marse  Julius? 
I  reckon,  dough,  you  hatter  see  Miss  Leonora," 
said  the  discerning  old  darkey.  « 'Fore  de  Lawd, 
she  hed  better  be  wearin'  dem  widder's  weeds 
fur  de  good  match  she  flung  away  in  you  'stead 
o'  fur  dat  ar  broken-necked  man  whut's  daid, 
praise  de  Lamb  !  " 

If  Julius  joined  in  this  pious  thanksgiving,  he 
made  no  outward  sign.  He  only  flushed  slightly 
as  he  asked  constrainedly,  "  Is  she  wearing 
mourning  yet  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sah,  to  be  shore.  Dis  yere  Yankee  man, 
whut  ole  Marster  an'  de  <  ladies '  an'  all  invited  to 
stay  yere,  he  is  gwine  round  Miss  Leonora  mighty 
smilin'  an'  perlite  an'  humble.  Dat  man  behaves 
lak  he  is  mos'  too  modes'  ter  say  his  prayers ! 
<  Anything  ye  got  lef  over,  good  Lawd,  will  do 
Baynell,  especially  a  lef -over  widder  'oman ! ' 
Dat's  his  petition  ter  de  throne  ob  grace ! " 

Oh,  double-faced  Janus!  —  now  partisan  of  the 
Rebel,  erstwhile  so  friendly  with  "de  Yankee 


THE  STORM   CENTRE  107 

«Ef  'twarn't  fur  him,  yer  Pa  could  come  up 
yere  an'  smoke  a  seeg&r  an'  talk,  an'  Miss  Leonora 
an'  de  ladies  mought  play  kyerds  wid  dee  wunst 
in  a  while,  wid  dem  blinds  kept  closed." 

"  He  isn't  such  an  awful  Tartar,  is  he,  Uncle 
Ephraim  ? "  said  Julius,  plaintively,  allured  by 
this  picture.  "  Wouldn't  he  wink  at  it,  if  he 
missed  them  or  heard  voices,  or  caught  a  suspicion 
of  my  being  here  ?  They  have  been  so  good  to 
him  —  and  I  am  doing  nothing  aggressive  — 
only  visiting  the  family." 

"  Lawsy  —  Lawsy  —  Lawsy-massy,  no  !  No  !  " 
cried  Uncle  Ephraim,  in  extreme  agitation  and 
with  the  utmost  emphasis  of  negation.  "Dat 
man  is  afflicted  wid  a  powerful  oneasy  conscience, 
Marse  Julius ! " 

And  he  detailed  with  the  most  convincing  and 
graphic  diction  the  disaster  that  had  befallen  the 
too-confiding  Acrobat. 

Julius  was  very  definitely  impressed  with  the 
imminence  of  his  peril.  "  The  son  of  Belial ! " 
he  exclaimed  in  dismay. 

"Naw  sah,  —  dot  ain't  his  daddy's  Christian 
name,"  said  Uncle  Ephraim,  ingenuously.  "  'Tain't 
Benial !  —  dough  it's  mighty  nigh  ez  comical. 
Hit's  <  Fluellen '  —  same  ez  dis  man's.  I  hearn 
ole  Marster  call  it  —  but  what  you  laffin'  at  ? 
Dee  hed  better  come  out'n  dat  duck-fit !  Folks 
can  hear  ye  giggling  plumb  down  ter  de  Big 
Gate ! " 

He  was   constrained    to    take  himself   down- 


108  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

stairs  presently,  lest  he  be  missed,  although 
longing  to  continue  his  discourse.  His  caution 
in  his  departure,  his  crafty  listening  for  sounds 
from  below  before  he  would  trust  his  foot  to 
the  stair,  his  swift,  gliding  transit  to  the  more 
accustomed  region  of  the  second  story,  the  art 
he  expended  in  concealing  in  a  dust  cloth  the 
bowl  in  which  he  had  conveyed  "  the  forage," 
as  Julius  called  it  —  all  were  eminently  reas 
suring  to  the  man  who  stood  in  such  imminent 
peril  for  a  casual  whim  as  he  gazed  after  "  the 
raven's"  flight. 

Solitary,  silent,  isolated,  the  day  became  in 
tolerably  dull  to  the  young  soldier  as  it  wore  on. 
He  dared  not  absorb  himself  in  a  book,  although 
there  were  many  old  magazines  in  a  case  which 
stood  near  the  stairs,  for  thus  he  might  fail  to 
note  an  approach.  Once  he  heard  the  treble 
babble  of  two  of  the  "  ladies  "  and  the  strange, 
infrequent  harsh  tone  of  the  deaf-mute,  and  he 
paused  to  murmur,  "  Bless  their  dear  little  souls ! " 
with  a  tender  smile  on  his  face.  And  suddenly, 
his  attention  still  bent  upon  the  region  below 
stairs,  so  unconscious  of  his  presence  above,  there 
came  to  him  the  full,  mellow  sound  of  a  stranger's 
voice,  a  well-bred,  decorous  voice  with  a  conven 
tional  but  pleasant  laugh ;  and  then,  both  in  the 
hallway  now,  Leonora's  drawling  contralto,  with 
its  cantabile  effects,  her  speech  seeming  more 
beautiful  than  the  singing  of  other  women.  The 
front  door  closed  with  a  bang,  and  Julius  realized 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  109 

that  they  had  gone  forth  together.  He  stood  in 
vague  wonderment  and  displeasure.  Was  it  pos 
sible,  he  asked  himself,  that  she  really  received 
this  man's  attentions,  appeared  publicly  in  his 
company,  accepted  his  escort  ?  Then,  to  assure 
himself,  he  sprang  to  the  window  and  looked  out 
upon  the  grove. 

There  was  the  graceful  figure  of  his  dreams 
in  her  plain  black  bombazine  dress  worn  without 
the  slightest  challenge  to  favor,  the  black  crape 
veil  floating  backward  from  the  ethereally  fair 
face,  the  glittering  gold-flecked  brown  hair  be 
neath  the  white  ruche,  called  the  "  widow's  cap," 
in  the  edge  of  her  bonnet.  Her  fine  gray  eyes 
were  cast  toward  the  house  with  a  languid  smile 
as  the  "  ladies  "  tapped  on  the  pane  of  the  library 
window  and  signed  farewell.  Beside  her  Julius 
scanned  a  tall,  well-set-up  man  in  a  blue  uniform 
and  the  insignia  of  a  captain  of  artillery,  with 
blond  hair  and  beard,  a  grave,  handsome  face,  a 
dignified  manner,  a  presence  implying  many 
worldly  and  social  values. 

This  walk  was  an  occasion  of  moment  to  Bay- 
nell.  The  opportunity  had  arisen  in  the  simplest 
manner. 

There  was  to  be  the  funeral  of  a  friend  of 
Judge  Roscoe's  in  the  neighborhood,  and  at  the 
table  he  had  been  arranging  how  "the  family 
should  be  represented,"  to  use  his  formal  phrase, 
for  business  necessitated  his  absence. 

"But   I   will   walk  over  with   you,  Leonora, 


110  THE   STORM  CENTRE 

although  I  cannot  stay  for  the  services.  I  will 
call  by  for  you  later." 

It  was  natural,  both  in  the  interests  of  civility 
and  his  own  pleasure,  that  Baynell  should  offer 
to  take  the  old  gentleman's  place,  urging  that  an 
officer  was  the  most  efficient  escort  in  the  un 
settled  state  of  the  country ;  and,  indeed,  how 
could  they  refuse  ?  He,  however,  thought  only 
of  her  acceptability  to  him.  Apart  from  her 
beauty  he  had  never  known  a  woman  who  so 
conformed  to  his  ideals  of  the  appropriate, 
despite  the  grotesque  folly  of  her  blighted 
romance.  It  was  only  her  nobility  of  nature,  he 
argued,  that  had  compassed  her  unhappiness  in 
that  instance.  The  graces  of  her  magnanimity 
would  not  have  been  wasted  on  him,  he  protested 
inwardly.  He  appreciated  that  they  were  fine 
and  high  qualities  thus  cast  before  swine  and 
ruthlessly  trampled  underfoot.  She  herself  had 
lacked  in  naught  —  but  the  unworthy  subject  of 
the  largess  of  her  heart. 

It  was  Baynell  who  talked  as  they  took  their 
way  through  the  grove  and  down  the  hill.  Now 
and  again  she  lifted  her  eyes,  murmured  assent, 
seemed  to  listen,  always  subacutely  following 
the  trend  of  her  own  reflections. 

He  would  not  intrude  into  the  house  of  afflic 
tion,  being  a  stranger,  he  said,  and  therefore  he 
strolled  about  outside  during  the  melancholy 
obsequies,  patiently  waiting  till  she  came  out 
again  and  joined  him.  She  seemed  cast  down, 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  111 

agitated ;  he  thought  her  of  a  delicately  sensitive 
organization. 

"How  familiar  death  is  becoming  in  these 
war  times !  "  she  said  drearily,  when  they  were 
out  of  the  crowd  once  more  and  fairly  home 
ward  bound.  "There  was  not  one  woman  of 
the  hundred  in  that  house  who  is  not  wearing 
mourning." 

She  rarely  introduced  a  topic,  and,  with  more 
alacrity  than  the  subject  might  warrant,  he  spoke 
in  responsive  vein  on  the  increased  losses  in 
battle  as  arms  are  improved,  presently  drifting 
to  the  comparison  of  statistics  of  the  mortality 
in  hospitals,  the  relative  chances  for  life  under 
shell  or  musketry  fire,  the  destructive  efficacy  of 
sabre  cuts,  and  the  military  value  of  cavalry 
charges.  The  cavalry  fought  much  now  on  foot, 
he  said,  using  the  carbine,  but  this  reduced  the 
efficiency  of  the  force  one-fourth,  the  necessary 
discount  for  horseholders ;  he  thought  there  was 
great  value  in  the  cavalry  charge,  with  the  un 
sheathed  sabre ;  it  was  like  the  rush  of  a  cyclone  ; 
only  few  troops,  well  disciplined,  could  hold 
their  ground  before  it ;  thus  he  pursued  the 
subject  of  cognate  interest  to  his  profession. 
And  meantime  she  was  thinking  only  of  these 
women,  mourning  their  dead  and  dear,  while  she 
—  the  hypocrite  —  wore  the  garb  of  the  bereaved 
to  emphasize  her  merciful  and  gracious  release. 
She  wondered  how  she  had  ever  endured  it,  she 
who  hated  deceit,  a  fanciful  pose,  and  the  empty 


112  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

conventions,  she  who  did  not  mourn  save  for  her 
lost  exaltations,  her  wasted  affection,  the  hope 
less  aspirations  —  all  the  dear,  sweet  illusions  of 
life !  Perhaps  she  had  owed  some  compliance 
with  the  customs  of  mere  widowhood,  the  out 
ward  respect  to  the  status.  Well,  then,  she  had 
paid  it ;  farther  than  this  she  would  not  go. 

The  next  morning  as  Captain  Baynell  took 
his  seat  at  the  breakfast-table  she  was  coming  in 
through  the  glass  door  from  the  parterre  at  one 
side  of  the  dining  room,  arrayed  in  a  mazarine 
blue  mousseline-de-laine  flecked  with  pink,  a  trifle 
old-fashioned  in  make,  with  a  bunch  of  pink  hya 
cinths  in  her  hand,  their  delicate  cold  fragrance 
filling  all  the  room. 

Even  a  man  less  desirous  of  being  deceived 
than  Baynell  might  well  have  deduced  a  personal 
application.  He  was  sufficiently  conversant 
with  the  conventions  of  feminine  attire  to  be 
aware  that  this  change  was  something  of  the 
most  sudden.  His  finical  delicacy  was  pained 
to  a  certain  extent  that  the  casting  off  her 
widow's  weeds  could  be  interpreted  as  a  chal 
lenge  to  a  fresh  romance.  But  he  argued  that 
if  this  were  for  his  encouragement,  surely  he 
should  not  cavil  at  her  candor,  for  it  would  re 
quire  a  bolder  man  than  he  to  offer  his  heart 
and  hand  under  the  shadow  of  that  swaying 
crape  veill  Nevertheless  when  his  added  confi 
dence  showed  in  his  elated  eyes,  his  assured 
manner,  she  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  with  a 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  113 

surprise  so  obvious  that  it  chilled  the  hope  ar 
dently  aglow  in  his  consciousness.  The  next 
instant  realizing  that  all  the  eyes  at  the  table 
were  fixed  on  her  blooming  attire,  noting  the 
change,  she  flushed  in  confusion  and  vexation. 
She  had  not  counted  on  being  an  object  of  atten 
tion  and  speculation. 

Judge  Roscoe's  ready  tact  mitigated  the  stress 
of  the  situation.  "  Leonora,"  he  said,  «  you  look 
like  the  spring !  That  combination  of  sky-blue 
and  peach-blow  was  always  a  favorite  with  your 
aunt,  —  French  taste,  she  called  it.  It  seems  to 
me  that  the  dyes  of  dress  goods  were  more  deli 
cate  then  than  now ;  that  is  not  something  new, 
is  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  no;  a  worn-out  thing,  as  old  as  the 
hills ! "  she  answered  casually. 

And  so  the  subject  dropped. 

It  was  renewed  in  a  different  quarter. 

Old  Ephraim  was  sitting  on  the  floor  in  the 
garret,  while  his  young  master,  adroitly  balanced 
in  a  crazy  arm-chair  with  three  legs,  was  scrap 
ing  with  a  spoon  the  bottom  of  the  bowl  that 
had  contained  "  the  forage." 

Julius  made  these  meals  as  long  as  he  dared, 
so  yearning  he  was  for  the  news  of  the  dear 
home  life  below,  so  tantalized  by  its  propinquity 
and  yet  its  remoteness.  He  was  barred  from  it 
by  his  peril  and  the  presence  of  the  Federal 
officer  as  if  he  were  a  thousand  miles  away. 
But  old  Ephraim  came  freshly  from  its  scenes; 


114  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

from  the  table  that  he  served,  around  which  the 
familiar  faces  were  grouped ;  from  the  fireside 
he  replenished,  musical  with  the  voices  that  Julius 
loved.  He  caught  a  glimpse,  he  heard  an  echo, 
through  the  old  gossip's  talk,  and  thus  the  sym 
posium  was  prolonged.  The  old  negro  told  the 
neighborhood  news  as  well ;  who  was  dead,  and 
how  and  why  they  died ;  who  was  married, 
and  how  and  when  this  occurred;  what  ladies 
"  received  Yankee  officers,"  for  some  there  were 
who  put  off  and  on  their  political  prejudices  as 
easily  as  an  old  glove ;  what  homes  had  been 
seized  for  military  purposes  or  destroyed  by  the 
operations  of  war. 

"De  Yankees  built  a  fote  on  Marse  Frank 
Devrett's  hill,"  he  remarked  of  the  home  of  a 
relative  of  the  Roscoes. 

"  Which  side,"  demanded  the  boy ;  "  toward 
the  river  ?  " 

"  Todes  de  souf." 

"  Pshaw !  Uncle  Ephraim,  it  couldn't  be  the 
south ;  the  crest  of  the  hill  slopes  that  way," 
Julius  contradicted,  still  actively  plying  the 
spoon.  "You  don't  know  north  from  south; 
you  don't  know  gee  from  haw  !  " 

"  'Twas  de  souf,  now  !  'Twas  de  souf !  "  pro 
tested  the  old  servant. 

"Now  look  here,"  argued  Julius,  beginning 
to  draw  with  the  spoon  upon  the  broad,  dusty 
top  of  a  cedar  chest  close  by.  "Here  is  the 
Dripping  Spring  road,  and  here  runs  the  turn- 


THE   STOEM   CENTRE  115 

pike.  Now  here  is  the  rise  of  the  hill, 
and  —  " 

"  Dar  is  Gen'al  Belden's  cavalry  brigade  camped 
at  de  foot,"  put  in  Uncle  Ephraim,  rising  on  his 
knees,  taking  a  casual  interest  in  cartography. 

"  And  here  is  the  bend  of  the  river,"  —  the 
bowl  of  the  spoon  made  a  great  swirl  to  imply 
the  broad  sweep  of  the  noble  Tennessee. 

"  Dat's  whar  dey  got  some  infantry,  four  reg'- 
ments." 

"  I  see,"  with  several  dabs  to  mark  the  spot, 
"  convenient  for  embarkation." 

"  An'  dar,"  said  the  old  man,  unaware  of  any 
significance  in  the  disclosure,  "  is  one  o'  dem  big 
siege  batteries  hid  ahint  de  bresh  —  " 

"  Masked,  hey  ?  to  protect  launching  and  pre 
vent  approach  by  water ;  they  are  fixed  up 
mighty  nice !  And  here  goes  the  slope  of  the 
hill  to  the  fort." 

"  No,  dat's  de  ravelin,  de  covered  way,  an'  de 
par'pet." 

"  As  far  down  as  this,  Uncle  Ephraim  ?  surely 
not ! » 

"  Now,  ye  ain't  so  much  ez  chipped  de  shell  ob 
dis  soldierin'  business,  ye  nuffin'  but  a  onhatched 
deedie  !  An'  yere  I  been  takin'  ye  fur  a  perfessed 
soldier-man  !  You  lissen  !  yere  is  de  covered  way 
ob  de  ravelin,  outside  ob  a  redoubt,  whar  dey 
got  a  big  traverse  wid  a  powder-magazine  built 
into  it.  I  been  up  dar  when  dis  artillery  captain 
sent  his  wagons  arter  his  ammunition." 


116  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"  About  where  is  the  magazine  located  ?  "  de 
manded  Julius,  gravely  intent. 

«  Jes'  dar  —  dar  —  " 

"  No,  no  ! "  cried  the  Confederate  officer,  in  a 
loud,  elated  voice. 

The  old  servant  caught  him  by  the  sleeve, 
trembling  and  with  a  warning  finger  lifted. 
Then  they  were  both  silent,  intently  listening. 

The  sunlight  across  the  garret  floor  lay  still, 
save  for  the  bright  bar  of  glittering,  dancing 
motes.  The  tall  aspen  tree  by  the  window 
made  no  sound  as  it  touched  the  pane  with  its 
white  velvet  buds.  A  wasp  noiselessly  flickered 
up  and  down  the  glass.  Absolute  quietude,  save 
for  a  gentle,  continuous  murmur  of  voices  in 
conversation  in  the  library  below. 

"  I'se  gwine  ter  take  myse'f  away  from  yere," 
said  old  Janus,  loweringly,  his  eyes  full  of  re 
proach,  his  nerves  shaken  by  the  sudden  fright. 
"  Ye  ain't  fitten  fur  dis  yere  soldierin'  business ; 
jes'  pipped  de  shell.  You  gwine  ter  git  yerself 
cotched  by  dat  ar  Yankee  man  whut  we-all  done 
loaded  ourself  up  wid,  an'  den  whar  will  ye  be  ? 
He  done  got  well  enough  ter  knock  down  a  muel, 
an'  I  dunno  why  he  don't  go  on  back  ter  his 
camp.  Done  wore  out  his  welcome  yere,  good- 
fashion  ! " 

But  Julius  had  entirely  recovered  from  the 
contretemps.  He  was  gazing  in  fixed  intentness 
at  the  map  drawn  in  the  dust  on  the  smooth, 
polished  top  of  the  cedar  chest. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  117 

"Uncle  Ephraim,"  he  said  in  an  impressive 
whisper,  "this  powder-magazine  is  built  right 
over  a  cave !  I  know,  because  there  is  a  hole,  a 
sort  of  grotto  down  in  the  grove,  where  you  can 
go  in;  and  in  half  a  mile  you  come  right  up 
against  the  wall  of  my  cousin  Frank  Devrett's 
cellar.  We  played  off  ghost  tricks  there  one 
Christmas,  the  Devrett  boys  and  me,  singing  and 
howling  in  the  cave,  and  it  made  a  great  mystery 
in  the  house,  frightening  my  Cousin  Alice ;  but 
Cousin  Frank  was  in  the  secret." 

"  Gimme  —  gimme  dat  spoon  !  I  don't  keer 
if  de  Yankees  built  deir  magazine  in  de  well  in 
stead  ob  de  cellar.  I'm  gwine  away  'fore  dat 
widder  'oman  begins  arter  me  'bout  dat  spoon 
an'  bowl !  Gimme  de  bowl,  sah,  it's  de  salad 
bowl !  " 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  still  pondering  on  the  map  ;  "  they 
utilized  part  of  the  cellar,  the  wine  vault,  blown 
out  of  the  solid  rock,  for  the  bottom  of  the  pow 
der-magazine  to  save  work,  and  then  covered  it 
over  with  the  traverse,  and  —  " 

"  Gimme  dat  bowl,  Marse  Julius,  dat  widder 
'oman  will  be  on  our  track  direc'ly.  She  keeps 
up  wid  every  silver  spoon  as  if  she  expected  ter 
own  'em  one  day !  But  shucks  !  you  gwine  ter 
miss  her  again,  wid  all  dis  foolishness  ob  play  in' 
Rebel  soldier.  Dat  ar  widder  'oman  is  all 
dressed  out  in  blue  an'  pink  ter-day,  an'  dat 
Yankee  man  smile  same  ez  a  possum  ! " 

Julius  Roscoe's  absorption  dropped  in  an  in- 


118  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

stant.  "  You  are  an  egregious  old  fraud ! "  he 
cried  impetuously.  "  I  saw  her  myself,  yester 
day,  dressed  in  deep  mourning." 

"  Thankee,  sah ! "  hoarsely  whispered  the  in 
furiated  old  negro.  "  Ye'se  powerful  perlite  ter 
pore  ole  Ephraim,  whut's  worked  faithful  fur  you 
Roscoes  all  de  days  ob  his  life.  I  reckon  Fse  toted 
ye  a  thousand  miles  on  dis  ole  back  !  An'  I  larned 
ye  how  ter  f eesh  an'  ter  dig  in  the  gyarden,  — 
dough  ye  is  a  mighty  pore  hand  wid  a  hoe, — 
an'  ter  set  traps  fur  squir'ls,  an'  how  ter  find  de 
wild  bee  tree.  An'  dem  fine  house  sarvants 
never  keered  half  so  much  fur  ye  ez  de  ole  cawn- 
field  hand  ;  an'  now  dey  hes  all  lef,  an'  de  planta 
tion  gangs  have  all  gone,  too,  an'  ye  would  lack 
yer  vittles  ef  'twarn't  fur  de  ole  cawnfield  hand ! 
I'll  fetch  ye  yer  breakfus',  sah,  in  de  mornin', 
fur  all  ye  are  so  perlite.  Thankee,  kindly,  sah, 
callin'  me  names ! " 

And  he  took  his  way  down  the  stair.  Albeit 
in  danger  of  capture  and  death,  Julius  flew 
across  the  floor  to  the  head  of  the  flight,  beguil- 
ingly  beckoning  the  old  negro  to  return,  for  the 
ministering  raven  had  cast  up  reproachful  eyes  as 
he  faced  about  on  the  first  landing.  Although 
obviously  relenting,  and  placated  by  the  tacit 
apology,  the  old  servant  obdurately  shook  his 
head  surlily.  Julius  jocosely  menaced  him  with 
his  fists;  then,  as  the  gray  head  finally  disap 
peared,  the  young  man  with  a  sudden  change  of 
sentiment  strode  restlessly  up  and  down  the  clear 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  119 

space  of  the  garret,  feeling  more  cast  down  and 
ill  at  ease  than  ever  before. 

"  Oh,  why  did  I  come  home ! "  Julius  said  over 
and  again,  reflecting  on  his  heady  venture  and 
its  scanty  joy.  It  seemed  that  the  great  unhap- 
piness  of  his  life  was  about  to  be  repeated  under 
his  eyes;  once  before  he  had  witnessed  the 
woman  he  loved  won  by  another  man.  Then, 
however,  he  was  scarcely  more  than  a  mere  boy ; 
now  he  was  older,  and  the  defeat  would  go  more 
harshly  with  him.  But  was  he  not  even  to 
enter  the  lists,  to  break  a  lance  for  her  favor? 
Although  he  had  controverted  the  idea  of  her 
doffing  her  weeds  in  this  connection,  he  now 
nothing  doubted  the  fact.  Her  choice  was 
made,  the  die  was  cast.  And  he  stood  here  a 
fugitive  in  his  father's  house,  in  peril  of  capture 
—  nay,  it  might  be  even  his  neck,  the  shameful 
death  of  a  spy  —  that  he  might  once  more  look 
upon  her  face ! 

He  could  not  be  calm,  he  could  no  longer  be 
still ;  and  ceaselessly  treading  to  and  fro  after 
the  house  had  long  grown  quiet,  and  the  brill 
iant  radiance  of  the  moon  was  everywhere  fall 
ing  through  the  broad,  tall  windows,  his  restless 
spirit  was  tempted  beyond  the  bounds  of  the 
shadowy  staircase  that  he  might  at  least,  wan 
dering  like  some  unhappy  ghost,  see  again  the  old 
familiar  haunts.  He  passed  through  the  halls, 
silent,  slow,  unafraid,  as  if  invested  with  invisi 
bility.  He  was  grave,  heavy-hearted,  as  aloof 


120  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

from  all  it  once  meant  as  if  he  were  indeed  some 
sad  spirit  revisiting  the  glimpses  of  the  moon. 
Now  and  again  he  paused  to  gaze  on  some  ar 
rangement  of  sofas  or  chairs  familiar  to  his  earlier 
youth.  By  this  big  window  always  lay  the 
backgammon-board.  There  was  the  old  guitar, 
with  memory,  moonlight,  romantic  dreams,  all 
entangled  in  the  strings !  It  had  been  a  famous 
joke  to  drag  that  light  card- table  before  the  pier 
glass,  which  reflected  the  hand  of  the  unwary 
gamester.  He  sank  down  in  a  great  fauteuil  in 
the  library,  and  through  the  long  window  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  room  he  could  see  the  sheen 
of  the  moonlight  lying  as  of  old  amidst  the 
familiar  grove. 

The  sentry,  with  his  cap  and  light  blue  over 
coat,  its  cape  fluttering  in  the  breeze,  ever  and 
anon  marched  past,  his  musket  shouldered,  all 
unaware  of  the  eyes  that  watched  him ;  the 
budding  trees  cast  scant  shadows,  spare  and  linear, 
on  the  dewy  turf  ;  the  flowers  bloomed  all  ghostly 
white  in  the  parterre  at  one  side.  So  might  he 
indeed  revisit  the  scene  were  he  dead,  Julius 
thought ;  so  might  he  silently,  listlessly,  gaze  upon 
it,  his  share  annulled,  his  hope  bereft. 

Were  he  really  dead,  he  wondered,  could  he 
look  calmly  at  Leonora's  book  where  she  had  laid 
it  down  ?  He  knew  its  owner  from  her  habit  of 
marking  the  place  with  a  flower ;  it  held  a  long 
blooming  rod  of  the  Pyrus  Japomca,  the  blossoms 
showing  a  scarlet  glow  even  in  the  pallid  moon- 


THE   STOKM   CENTRE  121 

light.  One  of  the  "  ladies  "  had  cast  on  the  floor 
her  "  nun's  bonnet,"  a  tube-like  straw  covering, 
fitted  with  lining  and  curtain  of  blue  barege 
and  blue  ribbons ;  that  belonged  to  Adelaide,  he 
was  sure,  the  careless  one,  for  the  bonnets  of  the 
other  two  "nuns"  hung  primly  on  the  rack  in 
the  side  hall.  His  father's  pen  and  open  port 
folio  lay  on  the  desk,  and  there  too  was  the  pipe 
that  had  solaced  some  knotty  perplexity  of  his 
business  affairs,  growing  complicated  now  in  the 
commercial  earthquake  that  the  war  had  super 
induced. 

Without  doubt  more  troublous  times  yet  were 
in  store.  Julius  rose  suddenly.  He  must  not 
add  to  these  trials !  He  must  exert  every  capacity 
to  compass  his  safe  withdrawal  from  this  heady 
venture,  for  his  father's  sake  as  well  as  his  own. 
With  this  monition  of  duty  the  poor  ghost  bade 
farewell  to  the  scene  that  so  allured  him,  the  old 
home  atmosphere  so  dear  to  his  sense  of  exile, 
and  took  his  way  silently,  softly,  up  the  stairs. 

He  met  the  dawn  at  the  head  of  the  flight, 
filtering  down  from  a  high  window.  It  fell  quite 
distinct  on  the  map  of  the  town  and  its  defences 
that  he  had  drawn,  in  the  dust  on  the  polished  top 
of  the  cedar  chest,  and  suddenly  a  thought  came 
to  him  altogether  congruous  with  the  garish  day. 

"  I  know  a  chief  of  artillery  who  would  like 
mightily  to  hear  where  that  masked  battery  is ! 
I  do  believe  he  could  reach  it  from  Sugar  Loaf 
Pinnacle  if  he  could  get  a  few  guns  up  there ! " 


122  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

Then  he  was  reminded  anew  of  the  subterra 
nean  secret  passage  from  the  grotto  in  the  grove 
through  the  cave  to  the  cellar  of  the  old  Devrett 
place,  where  now  there  was  a  powder-magazine. 
"  I'd  like  to  get  out  of  the  lines  with  that  map 
set  in  my  head  precisely."  He  thought  for  a 
minute  with  great  concentration.  "  Better  still, 
I'll  draw  it  off  on  paper." 

He  had  half  a  mind  to  take  Uncle  Ephraim 
into  his  confidence  to  procure  pencils  and  paper, 
but  a  prudent  monition  swayed  him.  This 
was  going  far,  very  far !  He  would  possess 
himself  of  the  map  duly  drawn,  but  he  would 
share  this  secret  with  no  one.  He  resolved  that 
when  next  the  family  should  be  out  of  the  house, 
for  daily  they  and  their  invalid  guest  strolled  for 
exercise  in  the  grove  or  wandered  among  the 
flowers  in  the  old-fashioned  garden,  he  would 
then  venture  into  the  library  quietly  and  secure 
the  materials. 

The  opportunity,  however,  did  not  occur  till 
late  in  the  afternoon.  He  did  not  postpone  the 
quest  for  a  midnight  hazard,  for  he  daily  hoped 
that  with  the  darkness  might  come  news  of  the 
drawing  in  of  the  picket-lines,  affording  him  a 
better  chance  to  make  a  run  for  escape.  Hence 
it  so  happened  that  when  the  elder  members  of 
the  household  came  in  to  tea,  they  found  the 
"ladies"  already  at  the  table,  the  twins  gloomily 
whimpering,  the  dumb  child  with  an  elated  yet 
scornful  air,  her  bright  eyes  dancing. 


THE  STORM  CENTRE  123 

They  had  seen  a  ghost,  the  twins  protested. 

"  Oh,  fie  !  fie  !  "  their  grandfather  uneasily  re 
buked  them,  and  Captain  Baynell  turned  with 
the  leniency  of  the  happy  and  consequently  the 
easily  pleased  to  inquire  into  this  juvenile 
mystery. 

Oh,  yes,  they  had  seen  a  ghost !  a  truly  true 
ghost !  They  mopped  their  eyes  with  their 
diminutive  handkerchiefs  and  wept  in  great  de 
pression  of  spirit.  It  was  in  the  library,  they 
further  detailed,  just  about  dark.  And  it  had 
seen  them !  It  scrabbled  and  scrunched  along 
the  wall !  And  they  both  drew  up  their 
shoulders  to  their  ears  to  imitate  the  shrinking 
attitude  of  a  ghost  who  would  fain  shun  obser 
vation  and  get  out  of  the  way. 

Little  Lucille  laughed  fleeringly,  understand 
ing  from  the  motion  of  their  lips  what  they  had 
said.  She  gazed  around  with  lustrous,  excited 
eyes ;  then,  she  turned  toward  Baynell,  and  with 
infinite  elan,  she  smartly  delivered  the  military 
salute. 

"Why,"  cried  Mrs.  Gwynn,  on  the  impulse  of 
the  moment,  "  Lucille  says  it  is  Julius  Roscoe ; 
that  is  her  sign  for  him.  What  is  all  this  foolery, 
Lucille?" 

But  just  then  Uncle  Ephraim,  in  his  functions 
as  waiter,  overturned  the  large,  massive  coffee 
urn,  holding  much  scalding  fluid,  upon  the  table, 
causing  the  group  to  scatter  to  avoid  contact 
with  the  turbulent  flood.  The  "widder  'oman" 


124  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

struggled  valiantly  to  keep  her  temper,  and  said 
only  a  little  of  what  she  thought.  The  re 
arrangement  of  the  table,  with  her  awkward 
and  untrained  servant,  for  the  service  of  the 
meal  so  occupied  her  faculties  that  the  matter 
passed  from  her  mind. 


CHAPTER   VII 

Miss  MILDRED  FISHER  was  one  of  the  happiest 
of  women,  and  this  was  the  result  of  her  own 
peculiar  temperament,  although  she  enjoyed  the 
endowments  of  a  kind  fate,  for  she  came  of  a 
good  family  and  had  a  fine  fortune  in  expectation. 
Her  resolute  intention  was  to  make  the  best  of 
everything.  With  a  strong,  fresh,  buoyant  phy 
sique  and  an  indomitable  spirit  it  became  evident 
to  her  in  the  early  stages  of  this  effort  that  the 
world  is  a  fairly  pleasant  planet  to  live  on.  Her 
red  hair  —  a  capital  defect  in  those  days,  when 
Titian's  name  was  never  associated  with  any 
thing  so  unfashionable,  and  which  bowed  to  the 
earth  the  soul  of  many  an  otherwise  deserving 
damsel  —  was  most  skilfully  manipulated,  and 
dressed  in  fleecy  billows,  usually  surmounted 
with  an  elaborate  comb  of  carved  tortoise-shell, 
but  on  special  occasions  with  a  cordon  of  very 
fine  pearls,  as  if  to  attract  the  attention  that 
other  flame-haired  people  avoided  by  the  hum 
blest  coiffure.  By  reason  of  this  management 
it  was  described  sometimes  as  auburn,  and 
even  golden,  but  this  last  was  the  aberration 
usually  of  youths  who  had  lost  their  own  heads, 
red  and  otherwise,  for  Mildred  was  a  bewildering 
coquette.  She  had  singularly  fine  hazel  eyes, 

125 


126  THE  STORM  CENTRE 

which  she  used  rather  less  for  the  purpose  of 
vision  than  for  the  destruction  of  the  peace  of 
man.  Her  complexion  of  that  delicate  fairness 
so  often  concomitant  of  red  hair  did  not  present 
the  usual  freckles.  In  fact  it  was  the  subject  of 
much  solicitous  care.  She  wore  so  many  veils  and 
mufflers  that  her  identity  often  might  well  be  a 
matter  of  doubt  as  far  as  her  features  could  be 
discerned,  and  Seymour,  being  a  very  glib  young 
lieutenant,  once  facetiously  threatened  her  with 
arrest  for  going  masked  and  presumably  enter 
taining  designs  pernicious  to  the  welfare  of  the 
army.  That  she  did  entertain  such  designs,  in  a 
different  sense,  was  indeed  obvious,  for  with  her 
determination  to  make  the  best  of  everything, 
Miss  Fisher  had  resolved  to  harass  the  heart  of 
the  invader  the  moment  a  personable  man  with 
a  creditable  letter  of  introduction  presented  him 
self.  For  she  "  received  the  Yankees,"  as  the 
phrase  went,  while  others  closed  their  doors  and 
steeled  their  hearts  in  bitterness. 

"  We  all  receive  the  Yankees,"  she  was  wont 
to  say  smilingly.  "  It  is  a  family  failing  with 
us.  My  father  and  five  brothers  in  the  Con 
federate  vanguard  are  waiting  now  to  receive 
Yankees  —  as  many  Yankees  as  care  to  come  to 
Bear-grass  Creek." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Fisher ! "  remonstrated  the  gay 
young  lieutenant,  perceiving  her  drift ;  "  how  can 
you  consign  me  so  heartlessly  to  six  red-handed 
Rebels ! " 


THE  STORM  CENTRE  127 

"  Only  red-headed  as  yet,  fiery,  —  all  of  them  ! 
They'll  be  red-handed  enough  after  you  and  they 
come  to  blows  !  " 

This  mimic  warfare  had  a  certain  zest,  and 
many  were  the  youths  among  the  officers  of  the 
garrison  who  liked  to  "  talk  politics  "  in  this  vein 
with  "  Sister  Millie,"  as  she  was  often  designated 
in  jocose  allusion  to  the  five  fiery-haired  brothers. 
And  indeed,  as  the  Fisher  family  was  so  numer 
ously  represented  in  the  Confederate  army,  she 
considered  that  her  Southern  partisanship  was 
thus  comprehensively  demonstrated,  and  she  felt 
peculiarly  at  liberty  to  make  merry  with  the 
enemy  if  the  enemy  would  be  merry  in  turn. 

Very  merry  and  good-natured  the  enemy  was 
pleased  to  be  as  far  as  she  was  concerned.  They 
wrote  home  for  social  credentials.  They  se 
cured  introductions  from  brother-officers  who 
had  the  entree,  and  especially  courted  for  this 
purpose  were  two  elderly  colonels  who  had  been 
classmates  of  her  father's  at  West  Point,  where  he 
was  educated,  although  he  had  resigned  from  the 
army  many  years  ago.  The  two  had  sought  and 
naturally  had  found  a  cordial  welcome  at  the 
home  of  his  wife,  sister,  and  mother.  It  was 
natural,  too,  that  they  should  feel  and  exert  a 
sort  of  prudential  care  of  the  household,  in  the 
midst  of  inimical  soldiers,  and  although  their  an 
cient  companion-in-arms  was  in  an  adverse  force 
hardly  fifty  miles  away,  they  regarded  this  as 
merely  the  political  aspect  of  the  situation,  which 


128  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

did  not  diminish  their  amity  and  bore  no  relation 
to  their  personal  sentiment,  as  they  came  and 
went  in  his  house  on  the  footing  of  friends  of  the 
family.  Now  and  again  the  incongruity  was 
brought  home  to  them  by  some  audacity  of 
Mildred  Fisher's. 

"  If  you  should  meet  papa,  Colonel  Monette," 
she  said  one  day  as  one  of  these  elderly  officers 
was  going  out  to  command  a  scouting  expedition 
—  "  if  you  should  meet  papa,  don't  fail  to  reintro- 
duce  yourself,  and  give  him  our  prettiest  compli 
ments." 

The  elderly  officer  was  a  literal-minded  cam 
paigner,  and  as  he  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  he 
felt  rather  dolorously  that  if  ever  he  did  meet 
Guy  Fisher  again,  it  would  probably  be  at  point- 
blank  range  where  one  would  have  to  swallow 
the  other's  pistol  ball. 

The  war,  however,  was  seldom  so  seriously 
regarded  at  the  Fisher  mansion,  one  of  the  fine 
modern  houses  of  the  town,  —  brick  with  heavy 
limestone  facings  and  much  iron  grille  work, 
perched  up  on  a  double  terrace,  from  which  two 
flights  of  stone  steps  descended  to  the  pavement. 
The  more  youthful  officers  contrived  to  import 
fruits  and  hothouse  flowers,  the  fresh  books  and 
sheet  music  of  the  day,  and  they  stood  by  the 
piano  and  wagged  their  heads  to  the  march  in 
"Faust,"  which  was  all  the  rage  at  that  time, 
and  sped  around  nimbly  to  the  vibrations  of  its 
waltz,  that  might  have  made  a  pair  of  spurs 


THE  STORM   CENTRE  129 

dance.  She  had  a  very  pretty  wit  of  an 
exaggerated  tenor,  and  it  seemed  to  whet  the 
phrase  of  every  one  who  was  associated  with 
"The  Fair  One  with  the  Equivocal  Locks,"  as 
an  imitator  of  her  methods  had  dubbed  her. 

No  order  was  so  strictly  enforced  as  to  touch 
her  mother's  and  her  aunt's  household.  Their 
poultry  roosted  in  peace.  Their  firearms  were 
left  by  officers  conducting  searches  through 
citizens'  houses  and  confiscating  pistols,  guns, 
and  knives. 

"We  are  as  capable  of  armed  rebellion  as 
ever,"  she  would  declare  joyously. 

Miss  Fisher's  favorite  horse  bore  her  airy 
weight  as  jauntily  down  the  street  as  if  no 
impress  had  desolated  equestrian  society.  On 
these  occasions  she  was  always  accompanied  by 
two  or  three  officers,  sometimes  more,  and  there 
was  a  fable  in  circulation  that  once  the  cavalcade 
was  so  numerous  that  the  guard  was  turned  out 
at  the  fort,  the  sentries  mistaking  the  gayly 
caparisoned  approach  for  the  major  general 
commanding  the  division  and  his  mounted  escort. 

She  sang  in  a  very  high  soprano  voice  and 
with  a  considerable  degree  of  culture,  but  one 
may  be  free  to  say  that  her  rendering  of  "II 
Bacio  "  and  "  La  Farfalletta  "  was  by  no  means 
the  triumph  of  art  that  it  seemed  to  Seymour, 
and  it  was  suggested  to  the  mind  of  several  of  the 
elder  officers  that  there  ought  to  be  something 
more  arduous  for  him  to  do  than  to  languish  over 


130  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

the  piano  in  a  sentimental  daze,  fairly  hypnotized 
by  the  simpler  melodies  — "  Her  bright  smile 
haunts  me  still"  and  "Sweet  Evangeline." 

Serious  thoughts  were  sometimes  his  portion, 
and  Vertnor  Ashley  now  and  again  received  the 
benefit  of  them. 

"I  heard  some  news  when  I  was  in  town  to 
day  —  and  I  don't  believe  it,"  Seymour  said  as 
he  sat  on  a  camp-stool  on  the  grass  in  front  of 
the  colonel's  tent. 

The  so-called  "  street "  of  the  cavalry  encamp 
ment  lay  well  to  the  rear.  Hardly  a  sound 
emanated  therefrom  save  now  and  then  the  echo  of 
a  step,  the  jingling  of  a  spur  or  sabre,  and  some 
times  voices  in  drowsy  talk  —  perhaps  a  snatch 
of  song  or  the  thrumming  of  a  guitar.  A  sort  of 
luminous  hush  pervaded  the  atmosphere  of  the 
sunny  spring  afternoon.  The  shadows  slanted 
long  on  the  lush  blue-grass  that,  despite  the 
trampling  to  which  it  had  been  subjected,  sent  a 
revivifying  impetus  from  its  thickly  interlaced 
mat  of  roots  and  spread  a  turf  like  dark  rich 
velvet.  The  impulse  of  bloom  was  rife  through 
out  nature  —  in  a  sort  of  praise  offering  for  the 
grace  of  the  spring.  Humble  untoward  sprigs  of 
vegetation,  nameless,  one  would  think,  unnoticed, 
must  needs  wear  a  tiny  corolla  or  offer  a  chalice 
full  of  dew  —  so  minute,  so  apart  from  observa 
tion,  that  their  very  creation  seemed  a  work  of 
supererogation.  The  dandelions'  rich  golden 
glow  was  instarred  along  the  roadside,  and  there 


THE   STORM  CENTRE  131 

was  a  bunch  of  wood  violets  in  the  roots  of  the 
maple  near  Ashley's  head,  the  branches  of  the 
tree  holding  far  down  their  dark  garnet  blossoms 
with  here  and  there  clusters  of  flat  wing-like 
seed-pods,  striped  with  green  and  brown.  A  few 
paces  distant  was  a  tulip-tree,  gloriously  aflare 
with  red  and  yellow  blooms  through  all  its 
boughs  to  the  height  of  eighty  feet,  and  between 
was  swung  Ashley's  hammock  with  Ashley 
luxuriously  disposed  therein.  His  eyes  were  on 
the  infinite  roseate  ranges  of  the  Great  Smoky 
Mountains  in  the  amethystine  distance ;  the 
purple  Chilhowee  darkly  loomed  closer  at  hand, 
and  about  the  foot-hills  was  belted  the  placid 
cestus  of  tents,  all  gleaming  white,  while 
the  splendid  curves  of  the  river,  mirroring  the 
sky,  vied  with  the  golden  west.  Nothing  could 
have  more  picturesquely  suggested  the  warrior 
in  his  hours  of  ease.  The  consciousness  of  one's 
own  graces  ought  to  add  a  zest  to  their  value, 
especially  when  vanity  is  as  absolutely  harmless 
as  Vertnor  Ashley's  enjoyment  of  his  own  good 
opinion  of  himself. 

"  What  news  ?  Why  don't  you  believe  it  ? 
Grapevine  ?  "  asked  Ashley.  (Grapevine  was  the 
telegraph  of  irresponsible  rumor.) 

«  No  —  no  —  nothing  fresh  from  the  army.  I 
heard  a  rumor  to-day  about  Miss  Fisher  —  that 
she  is  engaged  to  be  married." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  —  the  contrary  would 
surprise  me." 


132  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

Seymour  looked  alarmed.  « Had  you  heard 
it,  too  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  from  what  I  have  seen  of  <  Sister 
Millie,'  as  they  call  her  about  here,  I  should  say 
she  is  a  fine  recruiting  officer." 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence,  while  Ashley 
swung  back  and  forth  in  the  hammock  and 
Seymour  sat  in  a  clumped  posture  on  the  camp- 
stool,  his  hands  on  his  knees,  and  his  gloomy 
eyes  on  the  square  toes  of  his  new  boots.  At 
length  he  resumed:  — 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  fellow  that  hails  from 
somewhere  near  here  named  Lloyd  ?  " 

"  Lawrence  Lloyd  ?  " 

"  That's  the  man,"  said  Seymour. 

"  I've  heard  of  him.  That's  the  Lloyd  place 
a  little  down  the  river,  —  old  brick  house, 
but  all  torn  down  now  —  burned  by  Gibdon's 
men ;  good-sized  park,  or  <  grove,'  as  they 
call  it.  That's  the  man,  is  it?  Commanded 
some  Rebel  cavalry  in  the  Bear-grass  Creek 
skirmish." 

"  Fought  like  a  bear  with  a  sore  head  —  mad 
about  his  house,  I  suppose." 

"If  I  Imew  that  Miss  Fisher  was  engaged  to 
him,  I  would  send  her  a  barrel  or  two  of  fine  old 
books  that  I  rescued  from  Gibdon's  men  — 
thought  I'd  save  'em  for  the  owner.  They  made 
a  bonfire  of  the  library  there." 

"  Lloyd  used  'em  up  in  a  raid  last  fall  —  Gib 
don's  fellows.  I  don't  blame  'em.  But,  say  — 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  133 

Miss  Fisher  has  not  been  fair  to  me  if  she  is 
engaged  to  that  man." 

"  I  always  thought  Miss  Fisher  was  particu 
larly  fair  —  owing  to  a  sun-bonnet,  rather  than 
to  a  just  mind." 

"  You  think  she  would  treat  me  as  she  has  — 
encourage  me  to  make  a  fool  of  myself  —  if  she 
is  engaged  to  another  man  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  is  likelier  to  be  engaged  to  five 
than  <  another.'  " 

"  You  should  not  say  that,  Ashley,"  retorted 
Seymour,  gravely.  "  It  is  not  appropriate.  You 
should  not  say  that,"  he  urged  again. 

"  Oh,  I  mean  no  offence,  and  certainly  no  dis 
respect  to  the  lovely  Miss  Fisher,  who  is  my 
heart's  delight.  But  you  have  heard  the  five- 
swain  story  ?  " 

As  Seymour  looked  an  inquiry  — 

"  Five  Rebs  in  camp,  all  homesick,  very  blue, 
on  a  Sunday  morning,"  began  Ashley,  graphi 
cally  ;  "  all  sitting  on  logs,  each  brooding  over  his 
fiancee's  ivory-type.  And,  as  misery  loves  com 
pany,  one  sympathized  with  another,  and,  by 
way  of  boastfulness,  showed  the  beautiful  coun 
terfeit  presentment  of  his  lady-love.  Their 
clamors  brought  up  the  rest  of  the  five,  and 
each  had  the  identical  photograph  of  Miss  Millie 
Fisher.  She  was  engaged  to  all  five  !  There 
was  nothing  else  they  could  do  —  so  they  held  a 
prayer-meeting ! " 

"  What  bosh  !  "  exclaimed  Seymour,  fretfully. 


134  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"People  are  always  at  some  extravagant  story 
about  her  like  that.  It  isn't  true,  of  course." 

"  It  is  as  much  like  her  as  if  it  were  true," 
Ashley  declared  laughingly. 

The  serious,  not  to  say  petulant  traits  of  Sey 
mour  were  intensified  by  the  conscious  jeopardy 
of  his  happiness,  and  the  continual  doubt  in  his 
mind  as  to  whether  he  had  any  ground  for  hope 
at  all. 

"  By  George  !  if  I  knew  she  was  engaged  — 
or  —  if  I  knew  —  anything  at  all  about  any 
thing —  I'd  cut  it  all,  and  give  it  up.  I  don't 
want  to  be  a  source  of  amusement  to  her  —  or 
to  be  made  a  show  of.  Sometimes,  I  pledge  you 
my  word,  I  feel  like  a  dancing  bear." 

"  Miss  Fisher  has  something  of  the  style  of  a 
bear-ward,  it  must  be  confessed,"  said  Ashley. 
"  I  fancied  at  one  time  she  had  a  notion  of  get 
ting  a  chain  on  me  —  she  is  enterprising,  you 
know." 

Then,  after  a  moment,  "  Why  don't  you  cut  it 
all,  Mark  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  cried  Seymour,  with  an  accent  of  posi 
tive  pain,  «  I  can't.  Sometimes  I  believe  she  does 
care  —  she  makes  me  believe  it." 

"Well,"  smiled  Ashley,  banteringly,  "you 
dance  very  prettily  —  not  a  bit  clumsily  —  a  very 
creditable  sort  of  bear." 

Another  interval  of  silence  ensued. 

"  I  blame  Baynell  for  all  this,"  said  Seymour, 
sullenly. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  135 

«  Why  ?     Is  he  a  rival  ?  " 

«  No.  But  it  was  not  at  all  serious  —  I  wasn't 
so  dead  gone,  I  mean — when  I  wanted  him  to  take 
me  to  the  Roscoes'.  If  I  had  had  some  other  place 
to  visit  —  some  other  people  to  know  —  some  dis 
traction  of  a  reasonable  social  circle,  she  couldn't 
have  brought  me  to  such  a  —  a  —  " 

"  —  state  of  captivity,"  suggested  Ashley. 

"  Well,  you  know,  seeing  nobody  else  of  one's 
own  sort  —  and  a  charming  girl  —  and  nothing  to 
do  but  to  watch  her  sing  —  and  hear  her  talk  — 
and  all  the  other  men  wild  about  her — and  —  it's 

—  it's  —  " 

"  You'll  forget  it  all  before  long,"  suggested  the 
consolatory  Ashley.  "You  know  we  are  here  to 
day  and  gone  to-morrow,  in  a  sense  that  General 
Orders  make  less  permanent  than  Scripture.  If 
the  word  should  come  to  break  camp  and  march 

—  how  little  you  would   be   thinking   of   Miss 
Fisher." 

« I  suppose  you  were  never  in  love,  Ashley," 
Seymour  said,  a  trifle  drearily,  adding  mentally, 
"  except  with  yourself  !  " 

«  I !  "  exclaimed  Ashley,  twirling  his  mustache. 
"  Oh,  I  have  had  my  sad  experiences,  too  —  but 
I  have  survived  them  —  and  partially  forgotten 
them." 

«I  have  no  interest  now  in  going  to  the 
Roscoes'.  Mrs.  Fisher  offered  to  introduce  me. 
She  and  Miss  Millie  are  going  there  to-morrow 
to  some  sort  of  a  sewing-circle  —  they  just 


136  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

want  an  officer's  escort  through  the  suburbs, 
I  know.  That  sewing-circle  is  a  fraud,  and  ought 
to  be  interdicted.  They  pretend  to  sew  and  knit 
for  the  hospitals  here  and  Confederate  prisoners, 
and  I  feel  sure  they  smuggle  the  lint  and  clothes 
and  supplies  through  the  lines  to  Rebels  openly  in 
arms.  I  hate  to  go." 

"  Well,  now,  I'll  engage  to  eat  all  the  homespun 
cotton  shirts  that  Miss  Fisher  ever  makes  for  the 
Rebel  in  arms,  or  any  other  man.  You  need  have 
no  punctilio  on  that  score." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that.  I  hate  to  meet  Baynell  — 
what  is  he  staying  on  there  for  ?  He  is  as  rugged 
now  as  ever  in  his  life.  Is  he  in  love  with  the 
widow  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  queer  way  of  showing  it  if  he  is." 
And  Ashley  detailed  the  circumstance  of  the  im 
pressing  of  the  horse.  Seymour  listened  with  a 
look  of  searching,  keen  intentness. 

"  Baynell  would  never  have  done  that  in  this 
world,"  he  declared,  "  if  you  had  not  been  there 
to  hear  the  neighing,  too.  Why,  it  stands  to 
reason.  The  family  must  have  known  the  horse 
might  whinny  at  any  moment.  They  relied  on 
his  winking  at  it,  and  he  would  have  done  it  if 
you  had  not  been  there.  He  took  that  pose  of 
being  so  regardful  of  the  needs  of  the  service 
because  he  has  been  favoring  the  Roscoes  in 
every  way  imaginable.  Why,  hardly  anybody 
else  has  a  stick  of  timber  left,  and  every  day 
houses  are  seized  for  military  occupation,  and  the 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  137 

owners  turned  adrift,  but  I  know  that  when 
one  of  his  men  stole  only  a  plank  from  Judge 
Roscoe's  fence,  he  had  the  fellow  tied  up  by  his 
thumbs  with  the  plank  on  his  back  for  hours  in 
the  sun.  That  was  for  the  sake  of  discipline,  my 
dear  fellow  —  not  for  Judge  Roscoe's  plank.  On 
the  contrary  —  quite  the  reverse  !  " 

Seymour  wagged  his  satiric  head,  unconvinced, 
and  Ashley  remembered  afterward  that  he  vaguely 
wished  that  Baynell  would  not  make  so  definite 
a  point  about  these  matters,  provoking  a  sort 
of  comment  that  ordinary  conduct  could  hardly 
incur.  Baynell  ought  to  be  in  camp. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

BAYNELL,  himself,  reached  the  same  conclusion 
the  next  evening,  but  by  an  altogether  different 
process  of  reasoning. 

He  had  noticed  the  unusual  stir  among  the 
"  ladies  "  early  in  the  afternoon  and  a  sort  of  fes 
tival  aspect  that  the  old  house  was  taking  on. 
The  parlors  were  opened  and  a  glow  of  sunshine 
illumined  the  windows  and  showed  the  grove 
from  a  new  aspect  —  the  choicer  view  where  the 
slope  was  steep.  The  river  rounded  the  point  of 
woods,  and  there  was  a  great  stretch  of  cliffs 
opposite ;  beyond  were  woods  again,  reaching  to 
the  foot-hills  that  clustered  about  the  base  of  the 
distant  mountains  bounding  the  prospect.  The 
glimpse  seen  through  the  rooms  was  like  a  great 
painting  in  intense,  clear,  fine  colors,  and  he 
paused  for  a  moment  to  glance  at  it  as  he  passed 
down  the  hall,  for  all  the  doors  were  standing 
broadly  aflare  and  all  the  windows  were  open  to 
the  summer-like  zephyr  that  played  through  the 
house. 

«  Oh,  Captain  Baynell !  "  cried  Adelaide,  catch 
ing  sight  of  him  and  gasping  in  the  sheer  joy  of  the 
anticipation  of  a  great  occasion.  "  The  Sewing- 
Society  is  going  to  meet  here,  and  you  can  come 
in,  too  !  Mayn't  he  come  in,  Cousin  Leonora  ?  " 

138 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  139 

Mrs.  Gwynn  was  filling  a  large  bowl  on  a 
centre-table  with  a  gorgeous  cluster  of  deep  red 
tulips,  and  Baynell  noticed  that  she  had  thrust 
two  or  three  into  the  dense  knot  of  fair  hair  at 
the  nape  of  her  neck.  As  she  turned  around  one 
of  the  swaying  bells  was  still  visible,  giving  its 
note  of  fervid  brilliancy  to  her  face.  Her  dress 
was  a  white  mull,  of  simple  make  —  old,  even 
with  a  delicate  darn  on  one  of  its  floating  open 
sleeves,  but  to  one  familiar  with  her  appearance 
in  the  sombre  garb  of  widowhood  she  seemed 
radiant  in  a  sort  of  splendor.  What  was  then 
called  a  "  Spanish  waist,"  a  deeply  pointed  girdle 
of  black  velvet,  flecked  with  tiny  red  tufts,  made 
the  sylphlike  grace  of  her  figure  more  pronounced, 
and  at  her  throat  was  a  collarette  of  the  same 
material.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed.  It  had  been 
a  busy  day  —  with  the  morning  lessons,  with  the 
arrangement  of  the  parlors,  the  array  of  mate 
rials,  the  setting  of  the  sewing-machines  in  order, 
including  two  or  three  of  the  earlier  hand-power 
contrivances,  sent  in  expressly  from  the  neighbors, 
the  baskets  for  lint,  —  one  could  hear  even  now 
the  whirring  of  the  grindstone  as  old  Ephraim 
put  a  keener  edge  on  the  scissors.  Last  but  not 
least  Leonora  had  accomplished  the  bedizenment 
of  the  "  ladies." 

Adelaide  was  not  born  to  blush  unseen.  She 
realized  the  solecism  that  her  vanity  lured  her 
to  commit,  yet  she  said  hardily,  "Look  at  me, 
Captain  —  I'm  got  me  a  magenta  sash!" 


140  THE  STORM  CENTRE 

"  And  it's  beautiful ! "  cried  Baynell,  respon- 
sively.  "  And  so  are  you ! " 

Mrs.  Gwynn  glanced  down  at  her  reprovingly 
and  was  out  of  countenance  for  a  moment. 

"How  odious  it  is  to  give  to  colors  the 
names  of  battles,"  she  said,  —  "Magenta  and 
Solferino ! " 

"  This  is  a  beautiful  color,  though,"  said 
Baynell. 

"But  the  name  gives  such  an  ensanguined 
suggestion,"  she  objected. 

Her  eye  critically  scanned  the  three  "  ladies  " 
in  their  short  white  mull  dresses  and  magenta 
sashes,  each  with  a  bow  of  black  velvet  in  her 
hair,  as  they  led  Captain  Baynell  into  the  room, 
and  it  did  not  occur  to  her  till  too  late  to  canvass 
the  acceptability  of  the  presence  of  the  Yankee 
officer  to  the  ladies  of  the  vicinity,  assembling  in 
this  choice  symposium,  who  had  some  of  them 
the  cruel  associations  of  death  itself  with  the 
very  sight  of  the  uniform. 

Whether  it  were  good  breeding,  or  the  mag 
nanimity  that  exempts  the  unit  from  the  respon 
sibility  of  the  multitude,  or  a  realization  that 
Judge  Roscoe's  guest,  be  he  whom  he  might,  was 
entitled  to  the  consideration  of  all  in  the  Roscoe 
house,  there  was  no  demonstration  of  even  the 
slightest  antagonism.  The  usual  civility  of  salu 
tation  in  acknowledging  the  introduction  served 
to  withhold  from  Captain  Baynell  himself  the  fact 
that  he  could  hardly  hope  to  be  persona  grata; 


THE   STOEM   CENTRE  HI 

and  ensconced  in  an  arm-chair  at  the  window 
overlooking  the  lovely  landscape,  he  found  a  cer 
tain  amusement  and  entertainment  in  watching 
the  zealous  industry  of  the  little  Roscoe  "  ladies," 
who  were  very  competent  lint-pickers  and  boasted 
some  prodigies  of  performance.  A  large  old 
linen  crumb-cloth,  laundered  for  the  occasion,  had 
been  spread  in  the  corner  between  the  rear  and 
side  windows  of  the  back  parlor,  so  that  the  fly 
ing  lint  should  not  bespeck  the  velvet  carpet,  or 
an  overturned  basket  work  injury,  and  here  in 
their  three  little  chairs  they  sat  and  competed 
with  each  other,  appealing  to  Captain  Baynell 
to  time  them  by  his  watch. 

Now  and  then  their  comments,  after  the  man- 
ner  of  their  age,  were  keenly  malapropos  and 
occasioned  a  sense  of  embarrassment. 

"  Don't  you  reckon  Ac'obat  is  homesick  by  this 
time,  Captain  ?  "  demanded  Adelaide. 

"  Look  out  of  the  window,  Captain  —  you  can 
see  the  grating  to  the  wine-cellar  where  he  could 
put  his  nose  out  to  take  the  air,"  said  Geraldine. 

"  An'  he  thought  the  lightning  could  come  in 
there  to  take  him  —  kee  —  kee  —  "  giggled 
Adelaide. 

"  Oh,  wasn't  he  a  foolish  horse ! "  commented 
Geraldine,  regretfully. 

"Uncle  Ephraim  said  Ac'obat  had  no  religion 
else  he'd  have  stayed  where  he  was  put  like  a 
Christian,"  Adelaide  observed. 

"  Oh,  but  he  was  just  a  horse  —  poor  Ac'obat ! " 


142  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

At  this  moment  emulation  seized  Geraldine. 
"Oh,  my — just  look  how  Lucille  is  double- 
quickin'  about  that  lint  pickin' ! " 

And  a  busy  silence  ensued. 

The  large  rooms  were  half  full  of  members  of 
the  society.  In  those  days  the  infinite  resources 
of  the  "  ready-made  "  had  not  penetrated  to  these 
regions,  and  doubtless  the  work  of  such  eager 
and  industrious  coteries  carried  comfort  and  help 
farther  than  one  can  readily  imagine,  and  the 
organized  aid  of  woman's  needle  was  an  appreci 
able  blessing.  Two  or  three  matrons,  with  that 
wise,  capable  look  of  the  able  house-sovereign, 
when  scissors,  or  a  dish,  or  a  vial  of  medicine  is 
in  hand,  sat  with  broad  "  lapboards  "  across  their 
knees,  and  cut  and  cut  the  coarse  garments  with 
the  skill  of  experts,  till  great  piles  were  lying  on 
the  floor,  caught  up  with  a  stitch  to  hold  compo 
nent  parts  together  and  passed  on  to  the  younger 
ladies  at  the  sewing-machines  that  whirred  and 
whirred  like  the  droning  bees  forever  at  the 
jessamine  blooming  about  the  windows.  Nothing 
could  be  more  unbeautiful  or  uninviting  than  the 
aspect  of  these  stout  garments,  unless  it  were 
to  the  half-clad  soldier  in  the  trenches  to  whom 
they  came  like  an  embodied  benediction.  The 
thought  of  him  —  that  unknown,  unnamed  bene 
ficiary,  for  whose  grisly  needs  they  wrought  — 
was  often,  perhaps,  in  the  mind  of  each. 

«  And  oh  !  "  cried  Adelaide,  "  while  I'm  pickin' 
lint  for  this  hospital,  I  dust  know  some  little  girl 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  143 

away  out  yonder  in  the  Confederacy  is  pickin' 
lint  too  —  an'  if  my  papa  was  to  get  wounded, 
they'd  have  plenty." 

"  Pickin'  fast,  she  is,  like  us ! "  cried  the  has 
tening  Geraldine. 

The  deft-fingered  mute,  discerning  their  mean 
ing  by  the  motion  of  their  lips,  redoubled  her 
speed. 

Others  were  sewing  by  hand,  and  one  very 
old  lady  had  knitted  some  lamb's  wool  socks, 
which  were  passed  about  and  greatly  admired ; 
she  was  complacent,  almost  coquettish,  so  bland 
was  her  smile  under  these  compliments. 

And  into  this  scene  of  placid  and  almost  pious 
labor  came  Miss  Mildred  Fisher  presently,  lead 
ing  her  "  dancing  bear." 

If  there  were  any  question  of  the  acceptability 
of  the  enforced  presence  of  a  Yankee  officer,  either 
in  the  mind  of  the  Sewing-Circle  or  Lieutenant 
Seymour,  it  was  not  allowed  to  smoulder  in 
discomfort,  but  set  ablaze  to  burn  itself  out. 

"  I  know  you  are  all  just  perfectly  amazed  at 
our  assurance  in  bringing  a  Yankee  officer  here, 
—  dorft  be  mortified,  Lieutenant  Seymour, — 
but  mamma  wouldn't  hear  of  coming  without 
a  valiant  man-at-arms  as  an  escort,  so  I  begged 
and  prayed  him  to  come,  and  now  I  want  you 
all  to  beg  and  pray  him  to  stay ! " 

Then  she  introduced  him  to  several  ladies, 
while  Mrs.  Fisher,  always  the  mainspring  of 
the  executive  committee,  a  keen,  thin,  birdlike 


144  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

woman,  swift  of  motion  and  of  a  graceful  pres 
ence,  but  prone  to  settle  moot  points  with  a 
decisive  and  not  altogether  amiable  peck,  gave 
him  no  attention,  but  darting  from  group  to 
group  devoted  herself  wholly  to  the  business  in 
hand.  She  seemed  altogether  oblivious,  too,  of 
Mildred's  whims,  which  were  to  her  an  old  story. 
Seldom,  indeed,  had  Mildred  Fisher  looked  more 
audaciously  sparkling.  Her  fairness  was  en 
hanced  by  the  black  velvet  facing  of  her  white 
Leghorn  turban,  encircled  with  one  of  those  beau 
tiful  long  white  ostrich  plumes  then  so  much 
affected  that,  after  passing  around  the  crown,  fell 
in  graceful  undulations  over  the  equivocal  locks 
and  almost  to  the  shoulder  of  her  black-and-white 
checked  walking  suit  of  "summer  silk,"  trimmed 
with  a  narrow  black-and-white  fringe. 

"Grandma  sent  these  socks  and  shirts  — " 
she  said  officiously,  taking  a  bundle  from  a  neat 
colored  maid  who  had  followed  her  —  "and  I 
brought  my  thimble  —  here  it  is  —  golden  gold 

—  and  a  large  brass  thimble  for  Mr.  Seymour. 
You  wouldn't  think  he  has  so  much  affinity  for 
brass  —  to  look  at  him  now  !     I  intend  to  make 
him  sew,  too.     Mrs.  Clinton,  I  know  you  think 
I   am  just  awful"  turning  apologetically  upon 
the  very  old  lady  her  sweet  confiding  eyes.     "  But 

—  oh,  Mrs.  Warren  —  before  I  forget  it,  I  want 
to  let  you  know  that  your  son  was  not  wounded 
in  that  Bear-grass  Creek  skirmish  at  all.     I  have 
a  letter  from  one  of  my  brothers  —  brother  num- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  145 

ber  four  —  and  he  says  it  is  a  mistake ;  your  son 
was  not  hurt,  but  distinguished  himself  greatly. 
Here's  the  letter.  I  can't  tell  you  how  it  came 
through  the  lines,  for  Lieutenant  Seymour  might 
repeat  it ;  he  has  the  1-o-n-g-e-s-t  tongue,  though 
you  wouldn't  think  it,  to  see  him  now,  speechless 
as  he  is." 

Lieutenant  Seymour  rallied  sufficiently  to  pro 
test  he  couldn't  get  in  a  word  edgewise,  and  Mrs. 
Gwynn,  with  her  official  sense  of  hospitality  and 
a  real  pity  for  anything  that  Millie  Fisher  had 
undertaken  to  torment  on  whatever  score,  adopted 
the  tone  of  the  conversation,  and  said  with  a 
smile  that  he  might  consider  himself  "begged 
and  prayed"  to  remain. 

Lieutenant  Seymour  was  instantly  placed  at 
ease  by  this  episode,  but  Mrs.  Gwynn  experienced 
a  vague  disquietude  because  of  the  genuine  sur 
prise  that  expressed  itself  in  Mildred  Fisher's 
face  as  that  comprehensive  feminine  glance  of 
instantaneous  appraisement  of  attire  took  ac 
count  of  her  whole  costume.  Leonora  had  not 
reckoned  on  this  development  when,  in  that  sud 
den  revulsion  of  feeling,  she  had  discarded  the 
fictitious  semblance  of  mourning  for  the  villain 
who  had  been  the  curse  of  her  life.  The  mo 
mentary  glance  passed  as  if  it  had  not  been,  but 
she  could  not  at  once  rid  herself  of  a  sense  of  dis 
advantage.  She  knew  that  to  others  as  well  the 
change  must  seem  strange  —  yet,  why  should  it  ? 
All  knew  that  her  widow's  weeds  had  been  but 


146  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

an  empty  form  —  what  significance  could  the  fact 
possess  that  they  were  worn  for  a  time  as  a  con 
cession  to  convention,  then  laid  aside  ?  She  could 
not  long  lend  herself,  however,  to  the  absorption 
of  reflection.  The  present  was  strenuous. 

Miss  Fisher  was  bent  on  investing  Lieutenant 
Seymour  with  the  thimble  and  requiring  him  to 
thread  a  needle  for  himself,  while  she  soberly  and 
with  despatch  basted  a  towel  which  she  destined 
him  to  hem.  The  comedy  relief  that  these  ar 
rangements  afforded  to  the  serious  business  of 
the  day  was  very  indulgently  regarded,  and  her 
bursts  of  silvery  laughter  and  the  young  officer's 
frantic  pleas  for  mercy  —  utterly  futile,  as  all 
who  knew  Millie  Fisher  foresaw  they  must  be 
—  brought  a  smile  to  grave  faces  and  relaxed  the 
tension  of  the  situation,  placing  the  unwelcome 
presence  of  the  unasked  visitor  in  the  category  of 
one  of  Millie  Fisher's  many  freaks. 

Seymour  had  a  very  limited  sense  of  humor 
and  could  not  endure  to  be  made  ridiculous,  even 
to  gladden  so  merry  a  lady-love ;  but  when  she 
declared  that  she  would  transfer  the  whole  para 
phernalia —  thimble,  needle,  towel,  and  all  —  to 
Captain  Baynell,  and  let  him  do  the  hemming, 
Seymour,  all  unaware  of  the  secret  amusement 
his  sudden  consent  afforded  the  company,  showed 
that  he  preferred  that  she  should  make  him  ludi 
crous  rather  than  compliment  another  man  by 
her  mirthful  ridicule. 

"  Now,  there  you  go  !     Hurrah  !     Make  haste ! 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  147 

Not  such  a  big  stitch !  Now,  Mr.  Seymour, 
let  me  tell  you,  Hercules  with  the  distaff  was  not 
a  circumstance  to  you ! " 

And  the  Sewing-Circle  could  but  laugh. 

Upstairs  in  the  quiet  old  attic  these  evidences 
of  hilarity  rose  with  an  intimation  of  poignant 
contrast.  The  dreary  entourage  of  broken  furni 
ture  and  dusty  trunks  and  chests,  the  silence  and 
loneliness,  —  no  motion  but  the  vague  shifting  of 
the  motes  in  the  slant  of  the  sun,  no  sound  but 
the  unshared  mirth  below,  in  his  own  home,  — 
this  seemed  a  more  remote  exile.  Julius  felt 
actually  further  from  the  ancestral  roof  than 
when  he  lay  many  miles  away  in  the  trenches 
in  the  cold  spring  rains,  with  never  a  canopy  but 
the  storm,  nor  a  candle  but  the  flash  of  the  light 
ning.  He  sat  quite  still  in  the  great  arm-chair 
that  his  weight  deftly  balanced  on  its  three  legs, 
his  head  bent  to  a  pose  of  attention,  his  cap 
slightly  on  one  side  of  his  long  auburn  locks,  his 
eyes  full  of  a  sort  of  listening  interest,  divining 
even  more  than  he  heard.  He  was  young  enough, 
mercurial  enough,  to  yearn  wistfully  after  the 
fun,  —  the  refined  "home-folks  fun"  of  the  do 
mestic  circle,  the  family  and  their  friends,  —  to 
which  he  had  been  so  long  a  stranger ;  not  the 
riotous  dissipation  of  the  wilder  phases  of  army 
life  nor  the  animal  spirits,  the  "  horse-play,"  of 
camp  comrades.  Sometimes  at  a  sudden  outburst 
of  laughter,  dominated  by  Millie  Fisher's  silvery 
trills  of  mirth,  his  own  lips  would  curve  in  sym- 


U8  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

pathy,  albeit  this  was  but  the  shell  of  the  joke, 
its  zest  unimagined,  and  light  would  spring  into 
his  clear  dark  eyes  responsive  to  the  sound.  Now 
and  again  he  frowned  as  he  noted  men's  voices, 
not  his  father's  nor  well-remembered  tones  of 
old  friends.  They  had  been  less  frequent  than 
the  women's  voices,  but  now  they  came  at  closer 
intervals,  with  an  unfamiliar  accent,  with  a  dif 
ferent  pitch,  and  he  began  to  realize  that  here 
were  the  Yankee  officers. 

"Upon  my  word,  they  seem  to  be  having  a 
fine  time,"  he  said  sarcastically. 

In  the  next  acclaim  he  could  distinguish,  be 
sides  the  tones  of  the  invaders  and  the  ringing 
vibration  from  Millie  Fisher  that  led  every 
laugh,  Leonora's  drawling  contralto  accents,  now 
and  again  punctuated  with  a  suggestion  of 
mirth,  and  high  above  all  the  callow  chirp 
of  the  twin  "ladies."  He  lifted  his  head  and 
looked  at  the  wasps,  building  their  cells  on 
the  window  lintel,  the  broad,  dreary  spaces  of 
the  attic ;  and  he  beheld,  as  it  were,  in  contrast, 
his  own  expectation,  the  welcome,  the  cherished 
guest,  the  guarded  secret,  the  open-hearted  talks 
with  his  father,  with  the  "ladies,"  with  her 
whom,  since  widowed,  he  might  call  to  him 
self,  without  derogation  to  his  affection  or  disre 
spect  to  her,  his  "best  beloved."  The  hardship 
it  was  that  for  the  bleak  actuality  he  should 
have  risked  his  capture,  his  life,  —  yes,  even  his 
neck  I  His  hand  trembled  upon  the  map, 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  149 

wrought  out  to  every  detail  of  his  discoveries, 
that  he  kept  now  in  his  breast,  and  now  shifted 
to  the  sole  of  his  boot,  and  now  slid  in  the 
lining  of  his  coat-pocket,  always  seeking  the 
safest  hiding-place,  —  forever  seeking,  forever 
doubting  the  wisdom  of  his  selection. 

But  the  map  —  that  was  something  !  He  had 
gained  this  precious  knowledge.  Only  to  get  away 
with  it,  unharmed,  unchallenged,  unmolested! 
This  was  the  problem.  This  was  worth  coming  for. 

"  I'll  give  you  some  more  active  entertainment 
before  long,  my  fine  squires  of  dames,"  he  apos 
trophized  the  strangers  triumphantly.  Then  he 
experienced  a  species  of  rage  that  they  should  be 
so  merry  — and  he,  he  must  not  see  Leonora's 
face,  must  not  touch  her  hand,  must  not  tell  her 
all  he  felt;  this  would  have  been  dear  to  him 
even  if  she  had  not  cared  to  listen.  It  would 
have  been  like  the  votive  offering  at  a  shrine, 
like  a  prayer  from  out  the  fulness  of  the  heart. 

There  was  presently  the  tinkle  of  glasses  and 
spoons,  intimating  the  serving  of  refreshments. 
« I'd  like  to  see  old  Uncle  Ephraim  playing  but 
ler.  He  must  step  about  as  gingerly  as  a  gobbler 
on  hot  tin,"  Julius  said  to  himself  with  a  smile. 
"  I'll  bet  a  million  of  dollars  he  has  saved  me  my 
share  —  on  a  high  shelf  in  the  pantry  it  is  right 
now,  in  a  covered  dish ;  and  if  Leonora  should 
come  across  it,  she  would  think  the  old  man  was 
thieving  on  his  own  account.  Such  are  the  insin 
cerities  of  circumstantial  evidence  ! " 


150  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

The  genial  hubbub  in  the  parlors  below  was 
resumed  after  the  decorous  service  of  salad  and 
sherbet,  and  became  even  more  animated  when 
Colonel  Ashley  chanced  to  call  to  see  Baynell 
on  a  matter  affecting  their  respective  commands. 
He  had  of  course  no  idea  that  he  would  find 
Baynell  engaged  with  the  Sewing-Society,  but 
he  met  Miss  Fisher  on  her  own  ground,  as  it 
were,  and  there  ensued  an  encounter  of  wits,  a 
gay  joust,  neither  being  more  sincere  than  the 
other,  nor  with  any  arriere  pensee  of  irritable 
feeling  to  treat  a  feint  as  a  threat  or  to  cause 
a  thrust  to  rankle. 

Seymour  did  not  welcome  him.  The  prig, 
Baynell,  as  he  regarded  the  captain,  was  so  null, 
so  stiffly  inexpressive,  that  his  presence  had  sunk 
out  of  account,  and  the  young  lieutenant  felt 
that  he  could  rely  to  a  degree  on  the  quiet  kind 
ness  of  the  mature  dames  at  work.  They  did 
not  laugh  at  his  sewing  over  much,  although 
they  noted  with  secret  amusement  that,  being  of 
the  ambitious  temper  which  cannot  endure  to  be 
found  lacking,  he  had  bent  his  whole  energies  to 
the  endeavor,  and  had  sewed,  indeed,  as  well  as 
it  was  possible  for  a  lieutenant  of  infantry  to  do 
on  a  first  lesson.  He  had  a  sort  of  pride  in  his 
performance  as  he  handed  it  up  to  Miss  Fisher, 
and  she  showed  it  to  Ashley  with  an  air  of  pro 
nounced  amaze. 

"A  well-conducted  Rebel,"  she  said  at  last, 
solemnly,  "grounded  in  the  proper  conviction 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  151 

as  to  the  ordinance  of  secession  and  the  doc 
trine  of  States'  Rights,  would  go  into  strong 
convulsions  if  he  should  have  to  bathe  with 
that  towel  in  a  hospital.  That  wavering  hem 
is  an  epitome  of  all  the  Yankee  crooks,  and 
quirks,  and  skips,  and  evasions,  and  concealments 
of  the  straight  path  that  typifies  right  and 
justice,  and  Mason  and  Dixon's  line !  There 
fore  out  it  comes  !  " 

As  Ashley's  joyous  laughter  rang  out  with  its 
crisp,  genial  intonations,  the  listening  exile  in  the 
attic  again  involuntarily  smiled  in  sympathy, 
albeit  the  next  moment  he  was  frowning  in 
jealous  discomfort,  with  a  poignant  sense  of 
supersedure,  Here,  under  his  own  roof-tree  — 
his  father's  home  ! 

Lieutenant  Seymour  protested  with  ardor,  and 
in  truth  he  was  aghast  at  the  prospect.  He  had 
taken  so  much  pains.  He  had  wrought  with  his 
whole  soul.  He  had  imagined  that  he  had  hemmed 
so  well.  Although  he  had  lost  all  thought 
of  Baynell  in  his  interest  in  the  exercises  of 
the  afternoon,  now  that  Ashley  was  at  hand  to 
witness  his  discomfiture  he  became  resentfully 
conscious  of  the  presence  of  the  other  officer. 
He  was  suddenly  mindful  that  he  could  not 
appear  to  distinguished  advantage  as  the  butt 
of  a  joke,  however  mirthful  and  merry,  and  this 
pointed  the  fact  that  he  was  not  gracing  the 
introduction  here  which  he  had  earlier  sought 
through  Baynell's  kind  offices,  and  had  been,  as  he 


152  THE   STOKM   CENTRE 

thought,  most  impertinently  refused.  He  forgot 
the  grounds  of  the  declination  and  took  no  heed 
of  the  circumstance  that  they  included  Ashley's 
request  as  well  as  his  own.  He  did  not  realize 
that  had  it  fallen  to  Ashley's  lot  to  hem  the  towel 
and  thread  the  needle  and  wear  the  brass  thimble 
in  a  genuine  sewing-circle,  his  genial  gay  adapt 
ability  would  have  accorded  so  well  with  the 
humor  of  the  company  that  the  jest  itself  would 
have  been  blunted.  Its  edge  was  whetted  by 
Lieutenant  Seymour's  serious  disfavor,  the  red 
embarrassment  of  his  countenance,  even  the  stiff 
lock  of  hair,  at  the  apex  of  the  back  of  the  skull, 
that  stood  out  and  quivered  with  his  eager  insist 
ence,  as  he  rose  erect  and  held  on  to  the  towel 
and  looked  both  angrily  and  pleadingly  at  Miss 
Fisher. 

"I  hope  you  will  not  be  mutinous  and  dis 
obedient,"  she  said  gravely.  "  I  should  be  sorry 
to  discipline  you  with  the  weapons  of  the  society." 

She  threatened  to  pierce  his  fingers  with  a 
very  sharp  needle,  and  as  he  hastily  withdrew 
one  hand,  shifting  the  towel  to  the  other,  she 
opened  a  very  keen  pair  of  shears ;  as  he  evaded 
this  she  brought  up  the  needle,  enfilading  his 
retreat. 

As  he  stood  among  a  crowd  of  ladies,  insist 
ing  that  his  work  should  be  spared  with  a  vehe 
mence  which  most  of  them  thought  was  only  a 
humorous  affectation  and  a  part  of  the  fun,  he 
noted  that  Baynell  was  laughing  too,  slightly, 


THE   STOEM   CENTRE  153 

languidly.  Baynell  was  standing  beside  the  low, 
marble  mantelpiece,  with  one  elbow  upon  it, 
the  light  from  the  flaming  west  full  on  his 
trim  blond  beard  and  hair,  his  handsome,  dis 
tinguished  face,  the  manly  grace  of  the  attitude. 
Seymour  resented  with  an  infinite  rancor  at 
that  moment  the  contrast  with  his  own  flushed, 
fatigued,  tousled,  agitated,  persistent,  querulous 
personality.  He  could  not  have  given  up  to  save 
his  life,  and  yet  he  could  but  despise  himself  for 
holding  on. 

«  You  had  better  stop  pushing  me  to  the  wall," 
he  said,  and  this  was  literal,  for  he  gave  back  step 
by  step  at  each  feint  of  the  needle ;  "  you  had 
better  be  looking  out  for  Captain  Baynell.  He 
might  have  an  attack  of  conscience  at  any 
moment,  and  have  all  the  fruits  of  your  industry 
seized  and  confiscated  as  contraband  of  war. 
You  must  remember  he  had  Mrs.  Gwynn's 
horse  impressed." 

Baynell  was  rigid  with  an  intense  displeasure. 
Twice  he  was  about  to  speak  —  twice,  mindful 
of  the  presence  of  ladies,  he  hesitated.  Then  he 
said,  quite  casually,  though  visibly  with  a  heed 
ful  self-control: — 

"  That  was  because  of  an  order,  calling  for  all 
citizens'  horses  in  this  district  for  cavalry." 

"With  which  you  had  as  much  to  do  as  last 
year's  snow.  Just  see,  Miss  Fisher,"  —  Seymour 
waved  his  hand  toward  the  piles  of  clothing,  — 
"  <  all  the  coats  and  garments  that  Dorcas  made ' ; 


154  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

for  Captain  Baynell  might  report  that  they  are 
intended  to  give  aid  and  comfort  to  the  enemy ! 
—  to  be  smuggled  out  of  the  lines !  He  has  a 
dangerous  conscience  ! " 

There  was  a  sudden  agitated  flutter  in  the 
coterie.  The  beautiful  aged  countenance  of  Mrs. 
Clinton  was  overcast  with  a  sort  of  tremor 
of  fright.  A  sense  of  discovery,  as  of  a  moral 
paralysis,  pervaded  the  atmosphere.  A  long  sig 
nificant  pause  ensued.  Then  with  the  intima 
tions  of  a  stanch  reserve  of  resolution,  —  a  sort 
of  "  die  in  the  last  ditch  "  spirit,  —  those  more 
efficient  members  of  the  association,  middle-aged, 
competent,  experienced  matrons,  recovered  their 
dignified  equanimity  and  went  on  with  the  ex 
amining  and  counting  of  the  results  of  the  day's 
work  and  the  contributions  from  without, — 
Mrs.  Fisher,  the  acting  secretary,  receiving  the 
reports  of  the  conferring  squads  and  jotting  the 
enumeration  down  during  the  sorting  and  fold 
ing  of  the  completed  product. 

Baynell,  apparently  losing  self-control,  had 
started  angrily  forward.  Ashley,  grave,  per 
turbed,  had  changed  color — even  he  was  at  a 
loss.  One  might  not  say  what  a  moment  so 
charged  with  angry  potentialities  might  bring 
forth.  But  nothing,  no  collocation  of  invented 
circumstances  seemed  capable  of  baffling  Miss 
Fisher.  She  was  equal  to  any  emergency.  She 
had  snatched  the  towel  from  the  lieutenant's 
hand,  and,  flying  to  meet  Baynell,  her  smiling 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  155 

face  incongruous  with  a  serious,  steady  light  in 
her  eyes,  she  stopped  him  midway  the  room. 

"  Now  do  me  the  favor  to  look  at  that,"  she 
cried  gayly,  presenting  the  hem  for  inspection ; 
«  wouldn't  you  despise  an  enemy  who  could  take 
aid  and  comfort  from  such  a  hem  as  that  ?  " 

"  A  good  soldier  should  never  despise  the 
enemy,"  replied  Baynell,  seeking  to  adopt  her 
mood  and  repeating  the  truism  with  an  air  of 
banter. 

"  Well,  then,  to  fit  the  phrase  to  your  precision, 
such  an  enemy  would  deserve  to  be  despised ! 
What  —  going  —  Mrs.  Clinton  ?  It  is  getting 
late." 

It  was  not  the  usual  hour  of  their  separation, 
but  to  a  very  old  woman  the  turmoils  of  war 
were  overwhelming.  As  long  as  the  idea  of 
conflict  was  expressed  in  the  satisfaction  of 
being  able  to  aid  in  her  little  way  the  needy 
with  the  work  of  her  own  hands,  —  to  knit  as 
she  sat  by  her  desolate  fireside  and  wrought  for 
the  unknown  comrades  of  her  dead  sons;  to 
join  friends  in  furnishing  blankets  and  making 
stout  clothes  for  the  soldiers ;  to  bottle  her 
famous  blackberry  cordial,  and  to  pick  lint  for 
the  hospitals,  —  it  seemed  to  have  some  gentle 
phase,  to  bear  a  human  heart.  But  when  the 
heady  tumult,  the  secret  inquisitions,  the  bitter 
rancors,  the  cruelty  of  bloodshed,  and  the  sav 
agery  of  death  that  constitute  the  incorporate 
entity  of  the  great  monster,  War,  were  reasserted 


156  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

with  menace,  her  gentle,  wrinkled  hands  fell, 
her  hope  fled.  The  grave  was  kind  in  those  days 
to  the  aged. 

Ashley  had  contrived  to  give  Seymour  a  glance 
so  significant  that  he  heeded  its  meaning,  though 
he  was  already  repentant  and  cowed  by  the  fear 
of  Miss  Fisher's  displeasure.  His  heart  beat 
fast  as  she  turned  her  face  all  rippling  with 
smiles  toward  him,  albeit  he  told  himself  in  the 
same  breath  that  she  would  have  smiled  exactly 
so  sweetly  had  she  been  as  angry  as  he  deserved. 
For  Miss  Fisher  was  not  in  the  business  of  philan 
thropy.  She  had  no  call  to  play  missionary  to 
any  petulant  young  man's  role  of  heathen. 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  mamma  and  me 
home  ?  "  she  asked,  «  or  are  you  going  to  leave  us 
to  be  eaten  up  by  the  cows  homeward  bound  ?  " 

Now  and  again  might  be  heard  the  fitful  clank 
ing  of  a  bell  as  the  cows,  wending  their  way 
along  the  river  bank,  paused  to  graze  and  once 
more  took  up  their  leisurely  progress  toward  the 
town.  The  sunlight  was  reddening  through  the 
rooms.  It  had  painted  on  the  walls  arabesques 
of  the  lace  curtains  of  the  western  windows ;  the 
glow  touched  with  a  sort  of  revivifying  effect 
the  family  portraits.  Groups  of  the  members 
of  the  society  having  resumed  their  bonnets  and 
swaying  crape  veils  were  going  from  one  to 
another  and  commenting  on  the  likeness  to  the 
subject  and  the  resemblance  to  other  members 
of  the  family,  and  one  or  two  of  artistic  bent  dis- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  157 

cussed  the  relative  merits  of  the  artists,  for  several 
canvases  were  painted  by  eminent  brushes.  All 
were  going  home,  though  in  the  grove  the  mocking 
birds  were  singing  with  might  and  main,  but  there 
indeed  in  the  moonlight  they  would  sing  the  night 
through  with  a  romantic  jubilance  impossible  to 
describe. 

Ashley,  with  the  ready  tact  and  good  breeding 
which  caused  him  so  much  to  be  admired,  and 
so  much  to  admire  himself,  passed  by  the  more 
attractive  of  the  younger  members  of  the  Circle, 
and  did  not  even  heed  the  half-veiled  challenge 
of  Miss  Fisher  to  join  her  party  homeward,  for 
she  had  become  exceedingly  exasperated  with 
Lieutenant  Seymour,  and  had  Colonel  Ashley 
been  attainable,  she  would  have  made  the  younger 
man  rabid  with  jealousy  on  the  walk  to  the  town. 

But  no !  He  offered  his  services  as  escort  to 
Mrs.  Clinton,  who  looked  suspiciously  and  help 
lessly  at  him  like  some  tender  old  baby. 

"  There  is  no  necessity,  but  I  thank  you  very 
much,"  she  said;  "I  came  alone." 

The  engaging  Ashley  would  not  be  denied. 
He  had  noticed,  he  said,  that  to-day  some  droves 
of  mules  were  being  driven  into  town,  and  the 
heedless  soldiers  raced  along  perfectly  regardless 
of  what  was  in  the  roads  before  them.  They 
should  have  some  order  taken  with  them,  really. 

"Oh,  don't  report  them,"  said  the  old  lady. 
«The  —  the  discipline  of  the  army  is  so  —  so 
painful." 


158  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"But  there  are  no  painless  methods  yet  dis 
covered  of  making  men  obey,"  said  Ashley, 
laughing. 

She  still  looked  at  him,  doubtfully,  as  a  mouse 
might  contemplate  the  graces  of  a  very  suave 
cat.  But  when  Julius  gazed  out  from  the  garret 
window  at  the  departing  group,  he  was  duly 
impressed  with  the  handsome  colonel  of  cavalry 
conducting  the  aged  lady  on  one  arm  and  bearing 
her  delicate  little  extra  shawl  on  the  other,  while 
Mrs.  Fisher  with  Mildred  and  her  "dancing  bear," 
who  had  taken  some  clumsy  steps  that  day,  made 
off  toward  Roanoke  City,  and  the  other  ladies 
variously  dispersed,  Captain  Baynell  attending 
the  party  only  to  the  end  of  the  drive. 

Ashley's  graceful  persistence  was  justified  by 
the  meeting  of  some  of  the  reckless  muleteers  in 
full  run  down  the  road,  with  furious  cries  and 
snapping  whips  and  turbulent  clatter  of  animals 
and  men.  As  his  tremulous  charge  shrunk  back 
aghast,  he  simply  lifted  his  sword  "  like  a  wand 
of  authority,"  as  she  always  described  it,  and  the 
noisy  rout  was  turned  aside,  as  if  by  magic,  into 
a  byway,  leaving  the  whole  stretch  of  the  turn 
pike  for  the  passage  of  the  gallant  cavalier  and 
one  aged  lady. 

When  Baynell  came  back  through  the  grove 
and  into  the  house,  the  parlor  doors  still  stood 
open.  The  western  radiance  wa's  yet  red  on 
the  walls,  albeit  the  moon  was  in  the  sky.  The 
crumb-cloth  that  had  protected  the  carpet  from 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  159 

lint  was  gone,  the  sewing-machines  had  vanished, 
all  traces  of  the  work  were  removed,  and  wonted 
order  was  restored  among  chairs  and  tables.  The 
rear  apartment  was  as  he  had  seen  it  hitherto, 
save  that  the  windows  on  the  western  balcony 
were  open,  and  Mrs.  Gwynn,  in  her  white  dress, 
was  standing  at  the  vanishing  point  of  the  per 
spective,  glimpsed  through  the  swaying  curtains 
and  a  delicate  climbing  vine.  He  hardly  hesi 
tated,  but  passed  through  the  rooms  and  stepped 
out,  meeting  her  surprised  eyes  as  she  leaned  one 
hand  on  the  iron  railing  of  the  balcony. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  he  said.  "  I  want 
to  know  if  you  think  I  should  have  made  it 
plain  to  those  ladies  this  afternoon  that  they 
need  fear  no  interference  from  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  they  understood,"  she  said  list 
lessly,  as  if  it  was  no  great  matter. 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  purple  western 
hills.  The  last  vermilion  segment  of  the  great 
solar  sphere  was  slipping  beyond  them,  the  sunset 
gun  boomed  from  the  fort,  and  the  flag  fluttered 
down  the  staff. 

"  I  felt  very  keenly  the  position  in  which  I 
was  placed." 

She  merely  glanced  at  him  and  then  gazed  at 
the  outline  of  the  fort  against  the  red  sky,  all 
flecked  and  barred  with  dazzling  flakes  of  amber. 
The  rampart  remained  massive  and  heavy,  but  the 
sentry-boxes,  giving  their  queer  little  castellated 
effect,  were  growing  indistinct  in  the  distance. 


160  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"  I  was  tempted  to  express  my  resentment, 
but  I  was  afraid  of  going  too  far  —  of  getting 
into  a  wrangle  with  that  fellow  —  " 

"  Oh,  that  would  have  been  unpardonable  ;  in 
the  presence  of  Mrs.  Clinton  and  the  rest  of  the 
Circle  ! "  she  said  definitely. 

«I  am  so  glad  you  approve  my  course,"  he 
rejoined  with  an  air  of  relief. 

Once  more  she  looked  at  him  as  he  stood 
beside  her.  A  white  jessamine  clambered  up  the 
stone  pillar  at  the  outer  corner  of  the  grille  work. 
Its  blossoms  wavered  about  her ;  a  humming 
bird  flickered  in  and  out  and  was  still  for  a 
moment,  the  light  showing  the  jewelled  effect  of 
the  emblazonment  of  red  and  gold  and  green  of 
his  minute  plumage,  then  was  distinguishable 
only  as  a  gauzy  suggestion  of  wings.  The  moon 
was  in  her  face,  ethereal,  delicate,  seeming  to 
him  entrancingly  beautiful.  He  stipulated  to 
himself  that  it  was  not  this  that  swayed  him. 
He  loved  her  beauty,  but  only  because  it  was 
hers.  He  did  not  love  her  for  her  beauty.  They 
were  close  distinctions,  but  they  made  an  appre 
ciable  difference  to  him.  She  did  not  hold  his 
conscience.  She  did  not  dictate  his  sense  of 
right.  This  was  apart  from  her,  a  sanction  too 
sacred  for  any  woman,  any  human  soul  to  control. 
Yet  he  sighed  with  relief  to  feel  the  coincidence 
of  his  thought  and  hers. 

"You  know,  about  your  horse  —  it  was  a 
matter  of  conscience  with  me  —  a  sense  of  duty 


THE  STORM   CENTRE  161 

—  a  matter  of  conformity  to  my  oath  as  a 
soldier  and  my  knowledge  of  the  needs  of  the 
service.  I  would  not  for  any  consideration  evade 
or  fail  to  forward  in  letter  and  spirit  any  detail 
even  of  a  special  order  that  merely  chanced  to 
come  to  my  notice,  and  with  which  I  was  not 
otherwise  concerned.  Not  for  your  sake  —  not 
even  to  win  your  approval,  precious  as  that 
must  always  be  to  me,  nor  to  avoid  your  dis 
pleasure,  and  I  believe  that  is  the  strongest 
coercion  that  could  be  exerted  upon  me.  But 
the  destination  of  the  work  done  by  the  Sewing- 
Circle —  that  is  different.  I  have  no  informa 
tion  that  it  is  other  than  is  claimed.  I  am  not 
bound  to  nourish  suspicions,  nor  to  investigate 
mysteries,  nor  to  take  action  on  details  of  cir 
cumstantial  evidence." 

He  paused.  There  was  something  in  her  face 
that  he  did  not  understand ;  —  something  stunned, 
blankly  silent,  and  inexpressive.  He  went  on 
eagerly,  the  enforced  repression  of  the  afternoon 
finding  outlet  in  a  flood  of  words. 

"  Lieutenant  Seymour  understands  my  posi 
tion  thoroughly  well,  as  Colonel  Ashley  does. 
They  take  a  different  view  —  their  construction 
of  their  duty  is  more  lenient.  I  don't  know 
why  —  perhaps  because  they  are  volunteers,  and 
the  whole  war  to  them  is  a  temporary  occupa 
tion.  But  orders  are  to  be  obeyed  else  they 
would  not  be  issued.  If  any  exceptions  were 
intended,  a  permit  would  be  granted." 


162  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

He  paused  again,  looking  straight  at  her  with 
such  confident,  lucid,  trusting  eyes,  —  and  she 
felt  that  she  must  say  something  to  divert  their 
gaze. 

"Exceptions,  such  as  Miss  Fisher's  favorite 
mount,  Madcap  ?  How  pretty  Mildred  was  to 
day  !  Really  beautiful ;  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  No."  His  expression  was  so  tender,  so  wist 
ful,  yet  so  confident,  that,  amazed,  embarrassed, 
she  felt  her  color  begin  to  flame  in  her  cheeks. 
"  How  could  she  seem  beautiful  where  you  are, 
—  the  loveliest  woman  in  all  the  world  and  the 
best  beloved." 

"Captain  Baynell!"  she  exclaimed,  hardly 
believing  that  she  heard  him  aright.  "  I  do 
not  understand  the  manner  in  which  you  have 
seen  fit  to  speak  to  me  this  evening."  She 
paused  abruptly,  for  he  was  looking  at  her  with 
a  palpable  surprise. 

"You  must  know  —  you  must  have  seen  — 
that  I  love  you ! "  he  said  hastily.  "  Almost 
from  the  moment  that  I  first  saw  you  I  have 
loved  you  —  but  more  and  more,  hour  by  hour, 
and  day  by  day,  as  I  have  learned  to  know 
you,  to  appreciate  you  —  so  perfect  and  so 
peerless ! " 

"You  surprise  me  beyond  measure.  I  must 
beg  —  I  insist  that  you  do  not  continue  to  speak 
to  me  in  this  strain." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  did  not  know 
it  —  that  you  did  not  perceive  it  ?  " 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  163 

"I  did  not  dream  it  for  one  moment,"  she 
replied. 

It  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  accept  her  mean 
ing.  He  pondered  on  the  words  as  if  they 
might  develop  some  difference. 

"  You  afflict  me  beyond  expression ! "  he  ex 
claimed  with  a  sort  of  desperate  breathlessness. 
"  You  destroy  my  dearest  hopes.  How  could 
you  fail  —  how  could  I  fancy  !  I  —  I  would  not 
suggest  the  subject  as  long  as  your  mourning 
attire  repelled  it,  but  —  but  —  since  —  since  — 
I  —  I  thought  you  knew  all  my  heart  and  I  might 
speak ! " 

"  You  thought  I  laid  aside  a  widow's  weeds 
to  challenge  your  avowal ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Gwynn,  in  her  icy,  curt,  soft  tones. 

"Oh,  Leonora — for  God's  sake — put  on  it  no 
interpretation  except  that  I  love  you  —  I  adore 
you ;  and  I  thought  such  hearty,  whole-souled 
affection  must  awaken  some  interest,  some  re 
sponse.  I  could  hardly  be  silent  except  I  so 
feared  precipitancy.  I  spoke  as  soon  as  I  might 
without  rank  offence." 

Even  then,  in  the  presence  of  an  agitation, 
a  humiliation  peculiarly  keen  to  a  man  of  his 
type,  he  was  not  first  in  Mrs.  Gwynn's  thoughts. 
She  was  reviewing  the  day  and  wondering  if 
this  connection  between  the  lack  of  the  widow's 
weeds  and  the  presence  of  the  Yankee  officer 
was  suggested  to  any  of  the  sewing  contingent. 
A  vague  gesture,  a  pause,  a  remembered  facial 


164  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

expression,  sudden,  involuntary,  at  the  sight  of 
him  and  her,  —  all  had  a  new  interpretation  in 
the  sequence  of  this  disclosure.  They  had 
thought  it  the  equivalent  of  the  acceptance  of 
a  new  suitor,  and  the  supposed  favored  lover  had 
thought  so  himself ! 

The  recollection  of  her  woful  married  life, 
with  its  train  of  barbarities,  and  rancors,  and 
terrors,  both  grotesque  and  horrible,  that  still 
tortured  her  present  —  the  leisure  moments  of 
her  laborious  days  —  was  bitterly  brought  to 
mind  for  a  moment.  That  she,  of  all  the 
women  in  the  world  —  that  she  should  be  con 
templating  matrimony  anew!  She  gave  a  light 
laugh  that  had  in  it  so  little  mirth,  was  so  little 
apposite  to  ridicule,  that  he  did  not  feel  it  a 
fleer. 

"  You  did  not  mean  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  for  one  moment." 

«  You  did  not  have  me  in  mind  ?  " 

«  No  —  no  —  never  at  all !  " 

"Leonora  —  Mrs.  Gwynn  —  this  is  like  death 
tome— I  — I  —  " 

"I  am  very  sorry  —  " 

"I  do  not  reproach  you,"  he  interrupted. 
"  It  is  my  own  folly,  my  own  fault !  But  I 
have  lived  on  this  hope;  it  is  all  the  life  I 
have.  You  do  not  withdraw  it  utterly  ?  May 
I  not  think  that  in  time  —  " 

«  No  —  no  —  I  have  no  intention  of  ever  mar 
rying  again.  I  —  I  —  was  not  —  not  —  happy." 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  165 

« But  I  am  different  — "  he  hesitated.  He 
could  not  exactly  find  words  to  protest  his  con 
viction  of  his  superiority  to  her  husband,  a 
man  she  had  loved  once.  "  I  mean  —  we 
are  congenial.  I  am  very  considerably  older ; 
I  am  nearly  thirty-one.  My  views  in  life  are 
fixed,  definite  ;  my  occupation  is  settled.  Might 
not  —  " 

"  I  am  sorry,  Captain  Baynell ;  I  would  not 
willingly  add  to  the  unhappiness,  real  or  imagi 
nary,  of  any  one  —  but  all  this  is  worse  than 
useless.  I  must  ask  you  not  to  recur  to  the 
subject.  And  now  I  must  leave  you,  for  the 
<  ladies '  are  going  to  bed,  and  I  must  hear  them 
say  their  prayers." 

He  seemed  about  to  detain  her  with  further 
protestations,  then  desisted,  evidently  with  a 
hopeless  realization  of  futility. 

"  Ask  them  to  remember  me  in  their  petitions," 
he  only  said  with  a  dreary  sort  of  smile. 

He  had  always  seemed  to  love  the  "  ladies  " 
fraternally,  with  lenient  admiration,  and  she 
liked  this  tender  little  domestic  trait  in  the 
midst  of  his  unyielding  gravity  and  inexorable 
stiffness.  She  hesitated  in  the  moonlight  with 
some  stir  of  genuine  sympathy,  and  held  out  her 
hand  as  she  passed.  He  caught  it  and  covered 
it  with  kisses.  She  drew  it  hastily  from  him, 
and  Baynell  was  left  alone  on  the  balcony ;  the 
scene  before  him,  the  vernal  glamours  of  the 
moon,  the  umbrageous  trees,  the  sweet  spring 


166  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

flowers,  the  sheen  of  the  river,  the  bivouacs  of 
the  hills,  the  fort  on  the  height,  —  these  things 
seemed  unrealities  and  mere  shadows  as  he  faced 
the  fragments  of  that  nullity,  his  broken  dream, 
the  only  positive  actuality  in  all  his  life. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THAT  night,  so  long  his  step  went  to  and  fro 
in  his  room  as  he  paced  the  floor,  for  he  could 
not  sleep  and  he  could  not  be  still,  that  the 
Rebel,  hidden  in  the  attic,  was  visited  by  grave 
monitions  concerning  his  neighbor  and  did  not 
venture  out  to  roam  the  stairways  and  halls  and 
the  unoccupied  precincts  of  the  ground  floor  as 
he  was  wont  to  do. 

"<The  son  of  Belial'  has  something  on  his 
mind,  to  a  certainty,  and  I  hope  to  the  powers 
'tisn't  me,"  Julius  said  now  and  again,  as  he  lis 
tened.  He  had  sat  long  in  his  rickety  arm-chair 
in  the  broad  slant  of  the  moonlight,  that  fell 
athwart  the  dim  furniture  and  the  gray  •  shad 
ows,  for  the  night  continued  fair  and  the  moon 
was  specially  brilliant.  Once  in  the  clear  glow 
he  saw  distinctly  in  the  further  spaces  the  figure 
of  a  man,  watchful-eyed,  eager,  springing  toward 
him  as  he  moved,  and  he  experienced  the  cold 
chill  of  despair  before  he  realized  that  it  was  his 
own  reflection  in  a  dull  mirror  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  great  room  that  had  elicited  this 
apparition  of  terror.  He  took  himself  quickly 
out  of  the  range  of  its  reflection. 

"  Two  Johnny  Rebs  are  a  crowd  in  this  garret ! 
167 


168  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

I  have  just  about  room  enough  for  myself.  I'm 
not  recruiting." 

He  crept  silently  to  the  bed  and  lay  down  at 
full  length,  all  dressed  and  booted  as  he  was,  his 
hands  clasped  under  his  head,  with  the  moon 
light  in  his  eyes  and  illuminating  his  sleepless 
pillow,  still  listening  to  the  regular  step  march 
ing  to  and  fro  in  the  room  below. 

Julius  did  not  court  slumber. 

"I  must  keep  the  watch  with  you,  my  fine 
fellow,"  he  said  resolutely. 

Though  there  was  a  strong  coercion  to  wake- 
fulness  in  the  propinquity  of  that  spirit  of  unrest 
which  possessed  his  enemy  so  close  at  hand,  his 
eyes  once  grew  heavy-lidded  and  opened  with 
a  sudden  start  as,  half  dreaming,  he  fancied  a 
stealthy  approach.  He  sprang  from  the  recum 
bent  posture,  and  the  floor  creaked  under  the 
abrupt  movement.  This  gave  him  pause,  and 
he  slowly  collected  his  faculties.  Surely  the 
stranger  would  hardly  venture,  even  under  the 
relentless  scourge  of  his  own  wakeful  thoughts, 
to  roam  about  the  house  in  search  of  peace  or 
the  surcease  of  mental  tyranny  that  change 
might  effect.  This  might  savor  of  disrespect 
to  his  host,  yet  Julius  canvassed  the  suggestion. 
These  were  untoward  times,  and  strange  people 
were  queerly  mannered.  The  officer  must  have 
learned  in  the  length  of  his  residence  here  that 
the  great  vacant  attic  was  untenanted  wholly, 
and  of  course  he  knew  that  the  ground  floor  was 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  169 

altogether  unoccupied  by  night.  He  might  de 
scend  and  light  the  library  lamp  and  read.  He 
might  indeed  roam  the  deserted  rooms  with  the 
same  sort  of  satisfaction  that  Julius  himself  had 
already  felt  in  the  great  spaces,  the  absolute 
quiet,  the  still  moonlight,  the  long  abeyance  of 
day  with  its  procrastination  of  the  sordid  prob 
lems  and  the  toilsome  business  of  life.  If  he  had 
chanced  to  meet  the  Rebel  on  the  stairs,  he  would 
scarcely  have  thought  the  apparition  a  spectral 
manifestation,  as  the  poor  little  twins  had  con 
strued  the  encounter  in  the  library,  for  old  Janus, 
trembling  and  terrified,  had  detailed  the  signifi 
cance  of  the  scene  in  the  dining  room  afterward, 
and  the  eagerness  of  Julius  to  get  away,  to  be 
off,  had  been  redoubled.  Daily  he  had  hoped 
for  news  of  the  approach  of  the  picket-lines, 
and  daily  the  old  servant  wrung  his  hands  and 
made  his  report,  of  which  the  burden  was, 
"Wuss  an'  wuss! " — or  detailed  a  "scrimmage"  in 
which  "  dem  scandalous  Rebs  had  run  like  tuckies, 
an'  deir  line  is  furder  off  dan  it  eber  was  afore  ! " 
The  Confederate  officer,  nevertheless,  had  hith 
erto  felt  a  degree  of  safety  in  the  attic  and  had 
the  resources  of  a  manly  patience  to  await  the 
event.  This  nocturnal  eccentricity  on  the  part 
of  the  guest  of  the  house,  however,  roused  new 
forebodings.  It  bore  in  its  own  conditions  the 
inception  of  added  danger.  It  was  unprece 
dented.  It  marked  a  turbulent  restlessness  and 
the  element  of  change.  In  the  evidently  agi- 


170  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

tated  state  of  the  stranger's  nerves,  some  trifle, 
the  scamper  of  a  rat,  the  dislodgment  of  the 
rickety  old  cornice  of  this  bedstead,  the  fall  of 
one  of  the  girandoles,  teetering  over  there  on  a 
chest  of  drawers,  might  rouse  him  with  its 
clamor  and  justify  the  ascent  of  the  attic  stairs 
to  investigate  its  source.  These  were  troublous 
times.  There  were  stories  forever  afloat  of  law 
less  marauders.  Smoke-houses  were  broken  into 
and  pillaged.  Mansions  were  robbed  and  fired, 
and  their  tenants,  chiefly  women  and  children, 
fleeing  into  the  cornfields  to  hide,  watched  the 
roof-tree  flare.  It  was  hard  for  the  authorities 
to  find  and  fix  the  responsibility  for  these  dread 
deeds  in  remote  inaccessible  spots,  and  it  would 
be  culpable  neglect  for  this  Federal  officer  to  tol 
erate  the  suggestion  of  an  ill-omened  noise  or  an 
unaccustomed  presence  without  seeking  out  its 
cause.  Evidently  any  accident  would  bring  him 
upstairs.  It  was  equally  obvious  that  the  garret 
was  no  place  to  sleep  to-night !  Julius,  as  he  lay 
on  the  pillow,  could  hardly  rid  himself  of  the 
idea  of  approach.  Ever  and  anon  he  looked  for 
the  stealthy  shadow  of  which  he  had  dreamed, 
climbing  in  the  moonbeams  along  the  balusters 
of  the  stairway.  Finally  he  stole  silently  out  of 
the  reach  of  the  moonlight  to  a  darker  corner  of 
the  room, — the  deep  recess  of  one  of  the  win 
dows  which  the  shadow  of  a  great  branch  of  the 
white  pine  made  duskier  still.  The  tall  tree,  with 
its  full,  sempervirent  boughs,  showed  the  varying 


THE  STORM   CENTRE  171 

nocturnal  tints  that  color  may  compass,  unin 
formed  by  the  sun,  —  the  cool  suggestion  of  a 
fair  dull  green  where  the  moonbeams  glistered, 
the  fibrous  leaves  tipped  with  a  dim  sparkle ; 
the  deep  umbrageous  verdure  where  the  darkness 
lurked  and  yet  did  not  annul  the  vestige  of  tone. 
As  he  reclined  on  the  window-seat,  he  discerned 
farther  down  a  faint  flare  of  artificial  light.  It 
described  a  regularly  barred  square  amidst  the 
pine  needles,  and  he  presently  recognized  it  as 
the  light  from  the  window  of  Captain  Baynell's 
room.  Now  and  again  it  flickered  in  a  way  that 
told  how  the  disregarded  candle  was  beginning 
to  gutter  in  the  socket.  Still  to  and  fro  the  regu 
lar  footfalls  went,  muffled  on  the  heavy  carpet, 
but  in  the  dead  hush  of  night  perceptible  enough 
to  the  watching  listener.  At  last  with  a  final 
flare  the  taper  burned  out,  but  the  moon  was  in 
the  windows  along  the  western  side  of  the  house, 
and  still  to  and  fro  went  the  steps,  betokening 
the  turmoil  of  unquiet  thoughts.  Julius  watched 
how  the  moonbeams  shifted  from  bough  to  bough 
as  the  slow  night  lingered.  He  heard  the  bells 
from  the  city  towers  mark  the  hour  and  the  re 
current  echo  from  the  rocky  banks  of  the  river : 
then  one  far  away,  belated,  faint,  scarcely  per 
ceived,  beat  out  the  tally  of  the  time  on  some 
remote  cliff.  Once  more  the  air  fell  silent  save 
for  the  jubilee  of  the  mocking-birds,  for  spring 
had  come,  and  skies  were  fair,  and  the  gossamer 
moon  was  a-swing  in  the  night,  and  love,  and 


172  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

life,  and  home  were  dear,  and  the  incredibly 
sweet,  brilliant  delight  of  song  arose  in  paeans  of 
joy  and  faith.  Even  this  waned  after  a  time. 
A  wind  with  the  thrills  of  dawn  in  its  wings 
sprang  up,  and  Julius  shivered  with  the  chill. 
The  dew  was  cold  and  thick  in  the  pines,  and  the 
sward  glittered  like  a  sheet  of  water. 

At  last  all  was  quiet  and  silent  in  the  room  be 
low.  Julius  listened  intently.  No  creak  of  open 
ing  door ;  no  footfall  on  the  stair.  Now,  he  told 
himself,  was  the  moment  of  danger,  when  he 
could  no  longer  be  assured  of  the  man's  move 
ments,  and  could  not  even  guess  at  his  intentions. 
He  listened  —  still  —  still  to  silence.  Silence  ab 
solute,  null. 

A  bird  stirred  with  a  half-awakened  chirp. 
The  sky  showed  a  clearer  tone,  a  vague  blue, 
growing  ever  more  definite.  In  the  stillness, 
with  an  elastic,  leaping  sound,  strong  and  sweet, 
the  call  of  a  bugle  rang  out  suddenly  from  the 
fort  on  the  heights,  and,  behold,  with  a  flash  of 
red  on  the  water,  and  a  flare  of  gold  in  the  sky, 
the  sweet  spring  day  was  early  here. 

It  came  glowing  on  with  all  the  graces  and  soft 
splendors  of  the  season  as  if  it  bore,  too,  none  of 
the  prosaic  recall  to  the  labors  and  sordid  routine 
and  unavailing  troubles  and  vexations  of  the 
workaday  world.  The  camps  were  alive,  the 
drums  were  beating,  and  all  the  echoes  of  the  hills 
gave  voice  to  martial  summons.  The  flag  was 
floating  anew  from  the  heights  of  the  fort  in  the 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  173 

fresh  and  fragrant  sunshine,  and  now  and  again  a 
bar  or  two  of  the  music  of  a  military  band  in 
the  distance  came  on  the  wind.  The  clatter  of 
wagon  wheels  was  audible  from  the  stony  streets 
of  the  little  city.  The  shriek  of  a  locomotive 
split  the  air  as  an  incoming  train  whizzed  across 
the  bridge.  The  river  craft  steamed  and  puffed, 
and  blockaded  the  landing,  now  backing  water 
and  now  forging  forward,  remonstrating  with 
bells  and  whistles  in  strenuous  dialogue. 

It  was  a  day  like  yesterday,  yet  to  Baynell  all 
the  world  had  changed.  No  day  could  ever  be 
the  same.  Life  itself  was  made  up  of  depreciated 
values.  The  blow  had  fallen  so  heavily,  so  sud 
denly,  so  conclusively.  All,  all  was  dead !  It  was 
much  with  a  sense  of  decorous  observance,  of  rev 
erential  respect,  that  he  made  haste  to  bury  his 
slain  hopes,  his  foolish  dream,  his  ardent  expecta 
tions  out  of  sight,  never  to  rise  again.  It  was 
unwise  to  linger  here,  but  not  because  of  his  own 
interest,  he  said  to  himself.  It  would  not  unfit 
him  for  his  duty.  This  was  all  that  was  left  to 
him.  His  feeling  for  this  had  never  swerved.  It 
was  unaffected  —  all  apart  from  what  had  come 
and  gone.  But  his  presence  could  but  be  distaste 
ful  to  her.  And  any  moment  might  reveal  his 
state  of  feeling  to  others  —  to  Judge  Roscoe,  who 
would  resent  it  if  it  should  suggest  an  unwelcome 
urgency.  And  the  neighbors  —  he  had  not  been 
unnoting  of  the  glances  of  surprise  that  had  al 
ready  greeted  that  radiant  figure  in  white  and 


174  THE  STORM   CENTRE 

red  yesterday.  While  he  winced  a  little  from  the 
realization  that  his  sudden  departure  would  illus 
trate  the  sad  plight  of  a  love-lorn  suitor,  disre 
garded  and  cast  aside,  —  for  he  had  a  thousand 
keen  susceptibilities  to  pride,  —  and  he  would 
fain  the  tongues  of  gossips  should  forbear  this 
sacred  theme,  it  were  best  that  he  should  go, 
and  that  shortly. 

When  he  appeared  at  the  breakfast-table,  pale 
and  a  trifle  haggard,  he  gave  no  other  token  of 
his  long  vigil  and  the  radical  change  that  he  had 
suffered  in  his  life  and  prospects.  He  was  a  man 
of  theory.  He  valued  his  self-respect.  He  in 
sisted  on  his  self-control.  He  had  exerted  all  his 
capacities,  summoned  all  the  resources  of  his  cour 
age;  and  this  was  the  more  needed  because  of 
the  unconventional,  informal  footing  on  which  he 
stood  with  the  family.  To  say  farewell  and  ride 
away  might  seem  easy  enough,  but  this  was  like 
quitting  a  home  with  affectionate  domestic  claims. 
When  he  said  that  he  thought  he  must  return  to 
camp  to-day,  the  twin  "  ladies  "  laid  down  knife 
and  fork  to  enter  their  protest.  They  lifted  their 
voices  in  plaintive  entreaty,  and  the  deaf-mute 
looked  at  Baynell  with  limpid  eyes  and  a  quiv 
ering  lip.  But  Uncle  Ephraim,  bringing  in  the 
waffles,  had  a  vague  suggestion  of  "It's  time, 
too,"  in  the  wag  of  his  head.  Judge  Roscoe 
doubtless  experienced  a  vivid  realization  of  the 
advantage  to  accrue  to  the  young  soldier  in 
the  attic,  whose  security  in  his  hiding-place  was 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  175 

so  endangered  by  the  presence  of  the  Federal 
officer,  for  he  was  very  guarded  even  in  his  first 
cordial  phrases,  and  thenceforward  said  no  more 
than  policy  required.  The  twin  "ladies,"  how 
ever,  continued  to  loudly  urge  that  the  captain 
might  find  lizards  in  his  cot ;  and  asked  if  his 
tent  had  a  floor ;  and  warned  him  that  frogs 
were  everywhere  now.  "  Tree-toads,  o-o-oh  !  with 
injer-rubber  feet,"  cried  Geraldine,  shudderingly, 
"  that  blow  out  and  climb !  " 

"  And  you'll  have  no  little  girl  to  put  a  lump  of 
sugar  in  your  after-dinner  coffee,  Captain,"  said 
Adelaide,  impressing  the  merits  of  her  methods. 

«  And  no  little  girl  to  bring  you  a  lighted 
taper  for  your  cigar,"  chimed  in  Geraldine. 

"  It's  my  turn  to-day,  Ger'ldine,"  cried  the 
enterprising  Adelaide,  springing  from  her  chair 
to  monopolize  the  precious  privilege. 

«  No  —  no  !  mine  —  mine  !  You  had  it  yes 
terday  ! "  cried  Geraldine,  racing  after  her  out 
of  the  room. 

"  'Twas  day  before!"  protested  Adelaide's  voice 
far  up  the  hallway. 

«  You  had  better  get  your  cigar-case  ready,  to 
bestow  the  boon  on  the  first  comer,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Gwynn.  She  had  entirely  recovered  her 
equanimity,  as  he  perceived.  The  state  of  his 
unsought  affections  was  naught  to  her.  The 
wreck  of  his  heart  —  she  had  known  wrecked 
hearts  for  a  more  bitter  cause !  Doubtless  she 
thought  the  pain  transitory  in  his  case ;  already 


176  THE   STOBM   CENTRE 

its  contemplation  seemed  to  have  passed  from 
her  mind  like  a  tale  that  is  told.  She  was 
sedately  suave  as  always,  barely  attentive,  pre 
occupied,  her  usual  manner,  so  incongruous  with 
her  youth  and  beauty,  so  at  variance  with  her 
attire  from  the  old  wardrobe  of  by-gone  days,  — 
the  fresh  white  lawn,  flecked  with  light  blue,  the 
ruffles  finished  with  "  footing,"  and  with  a  bobi- 
net  scarf  about  her  throat,  wherein  was  thrust 
a  pin  of  a  single  rose  carved  in  coral.  She  was 
like  some  dainty  maiden,  no  refugee  from  the 
world,  sad  and  widowed. 

She  led  the  way  to  the  library,  partly  to  see 
that  the  "  ladies  "  did  not  set  themselves  aflame 
as  their  short  skirts  flickered  about  the  small 
dully  burning  fire,  still  lighted  night  and  morn 
ing  against  the  chill  of  the  crisp  vernal  air. 
They  were,  indeed,  leaping  back  and  forth  over 
the  fender  with  some  temerity,  and  Baynell, 
seating  himself  by  the  table,  his  cigar  between 
his  teeth,  thought  it  best  to  dispose  of  both  the 
lighted  spills  by  not  drawing  at  all  till  both 
were  alternately  offered  and  the  extinction  of 
each  secured.  Then,  as  the  «  ladies  "  flew  back 
to  the  dining  room  and  out  to  the  parterre,  hav 
ing  volunteered  to  gather  the  rest  of  the  flowers 
for  the  vases,  Leonora  and  Baynell  were  left  for 
the  time  together. 

It  gratified  him  to  perceive  that  she  did  not 
fear  the  introduction  of  the  subject  anew.  She 
experienced  not  even  a  momentary  embarrass- 


THE   STOKM  CENTRE  177 

ment.  She  understood  him  so  well,  and  the 
plane  of  his  emotion. 

The  early  morning  sunshine  was  in  the  cheer 
ful  library  windows ;  a  mocking-bird  on  a  vine 
outside  swayed  so  close,  as  he  sang,  that  his 
shadow  continually  flickered  over  the  sill ;  the 
flowers  were  all  freshly  abloom,  and  Mrs.  Gwynn 
was  standing  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table, 
her  hands  full  of  the  spring  blossoms  that  lay 
already  on  a  tray,  preparing  to  fill  the  great  blue 
and  white  Wedgwood  bowl. 

Baynell,  commenting  on  the  splendor  of  the 
tulips  as  he  smoked  his  cigar,  spoke  of  the  craze 
for  speculation  in  the  bulb  that  had  existed  in 
Holland,  and  said  he  had  once  seen  an  old  book 
of  illustrations  of  famous  prize-takers,  with  fabu 
lous  prices  ;  he  had  always  wondered  how  they 
compared  with  the  results  of  modern  culture  and 
the  infinite  variety  to  which  the  bloom  had  been 
brought,  and  he  had  often  wished  to  see  the 
book  again. 

"  Why,  we  have  that ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gwynn, 
pausing  with  her  hands  full  of  the  gold  variety 
"flamed"  with  scarlet.  She  glanced  uncer 
tainly  toward  the  bookshelves,  then  suddenly 
remembering  —  "  Oh,  I  know  now  where  it  is  ; 
—  in  the  old  bookcase  upstairs,  at  the  head  of 
the  third  flight.  I  will  call  one  of  the  ladies  to 
go  for  it." 

Baynell  rose,  his  lighted  cigar  between  his 
lips.  «  Don't  trouble  them  ;  let  me  go  !  " 


178  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

Julius  heard  the  swift  step  of  a  young  man  on 
the  stair.  He  knew  that  the  crucial  moment 
had  come.  And  yet  for  the  sake  of  the  safety 
of  his  father,  who  had  concealed  him  here,  he 
dared  not  defend  himself  with  his  pistols.  He 
had  not  a  moment  for  flight  or  to  seek  a  hiding- 
place.  He  could  only  nerve  his  powers  to  meet 
the  crisis  as  best  he  might. 

Baynell,  taken  wholly  by  surprise,  felt  his 
senses  reel  when,  like  the  grotesque  inconsequence 
of  a  dream,  a  man  in  the  uniform  of  a  Confed 
erate  officer  in  the  quiet,  peaceful  house  con 
fronted  him  at  the  head  of  the  flight. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner ! "  Baynell  mechani 
cally  gasped,  clutching  Julius  with  one  hand  and 
drawing  his  pistol  with  the  other.  "  You  are  my 
prisoner  ! " 

« In  a  horn ! "  retorted  Julius,  delivering  his 
enemy  a  blow  between  the  eyes  which  flung  Bay 
nell,  stunned  and  bleeding,  down  the  flight  to 
the  landing,  while  the  boy  went  by  him  like  a 
flash. 

That  swift  fiery  figure,  with  its  gray  regimentals 
and  its  brass  and  steel  glitter,  covered  with  blood, 
passed  Leonora  like  some  gory  apparition  as  she 
stood  in  the  library  door,  amazed,  pallid,  breath 
less,  summoned  by  the  sound  of  loud  voices  and 
the  reverberating  clamors  of  the  collision  on  the 
stairs.  Julius  dashed  through  the  drawing-rooms, 
opened  the  window  on  the  western  balcony,  sprang 
over  the  rail,  and  disappeared  swiftly  among  the 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  179 

low  boughs  of  the  row  of  evergreen  shrubs 
planted  there  in  old  times  as  a  wind-break,  and 
stretching  along  the  crest  of  the  hill. 

And  placidly  in  the  sunshine  the  sentry  paced 
his  beat  before  the  south  portico,  the  reaches  of 
the  drive  in  sight,  the  appropriate  entrance  of 
the  place,  all  unconscious  of  aught  amiss,  seeing 
nothing,  hearing  nothing,  —  till  suddenly,  with 
an  effect  of  confusion,  like  the  distortions  of  a 
delirium,  he  was  aware  that  the  grove  was  full  of 
Federal  soldiers,  chiefly  from  the  infantry  regi 
ment  camped  in  the  orchard  to  the  west,  —  sol 
diers  in  wild  disorder,  hatless,  shoeless,  coatless, 
many  of  them, —  all  armed,  all  howling  with  an 
unexplained  excitement,  racing  frantically  hither 
and  thither,  bushwhacking  with  their  rifles  every 
bough  in  their  reach.  And  now  they  came  at 
full  run,  still  howling  and  wild,  toward  the 
house. 

«  Halt !  "  cried  the  sentry.    «  Halt ! " 

The  advance  came  surging  on,  regardless. 

"  Halt,  or  I  fire  !  "  once  more  the  guard  warned 
the  onset.  And  he  levelled  his  weapon. 

They  clamored  out  words  at  him,  all  madly 
intermingled,  all  unintelligible,  approaching  still 
at  full  run. 

Perhaps  the  sentinel  had  some  excusable  regard 
for  his  own  safety,  for  in  the  unexplained  excite 
ment  that  possessed  them,  they  were  less  soldiery 
than  a  frantic  mob.  He  had  warrant  enough  to 
fire  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd.  But  it  seemed 


180  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

that  he  might  in  a  moment  have  been  torn  limb 
from  limb.  He  interpreted  his  duty  on  the  side 
of  caution.  He  cocked  his  weapon,  fired  into 
the  air,  and  called  lustily  upon  the  "  Corporal  of 
the  guard."  The  mass  surged  into  the  house, 
some  by  the  front  door,  some  by  the  open  library 
window,  others  scaled  the  balcony  and  pressed 
through  the  drawing-rooms  and  into  the  hall. 

The  terrified  children  clung  to  the  skirt  of 
Mrs.  Gwynn's  dress,  as  amazed  and  bewildered 
she  stood  in  the  wide  long  hall,  by  the  great 
carved  newel  of  the  stairs,  while  with  frantic  in 
terrogatories  —  "  Where  is  he  ?  Where  is  he  ? 
Who  is  he?  " —  the  intruders  searched  every  nook 
and  cranny  of  the  lower  floor.  Destruction,  the 
inadvertent  incident  of  haste,  or  the  concomi 
tant  of  clumsy  accoutrements,  seemed  to  attend 
their  steps.  Now  sounded  the  shiver  of  glass 
as  a  soldier  burst  through  one  of  the  long  French 
windows  of  the  dining  room.  A  trooper  caught 
his  huge  cavalry  spurs  in  the  meshes  of  a  lace 
curtain  in  one  of  the  parlors  and  brought  down 
cornice,  lambrequin,  and  all  with  a  crash.  The 
crystal  shades  of  the  hall  chandelier  were  not 
proof  against  a  bayonet,  held  unduly  aloft  at  the 
posture  of  Shoulder  Arms.  A  tussle  for  prece 
dence  knocked  a  weighty  marble  statue,  half  life- 
size,  out  of  the  niche  at  the  turn  of  the  staircase. 
These  casualties  and  the  attendant  noise,  the 
heavy  tramp  of  booted  feet,  the  raucous  sonority 
of  their  voices  as  they  called  suggestions  to  each 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  181 

other,  all  intensified  the  terror,  the  tumult  of 
their  uncontrolled  and  turbulent  presence. 

As  a  score  raced  up  the  stairs  a  sudden  hush 
fell  upon  the  rout.  Those  still  below  appre 
hended  developments  of  moment  and  pressed  to 
the  scene.  The  foremost  had  encountered  Judge 
Roscoe  and  old  Ephraim  bearing  down  to  the 
second  story  the  prostrate  body  of  Captain  Bay- 
nell,  all  dripping  with  blood,  while  the  floor  of 
the  stairs  to  the  attic  showed  the  stains  of  the 
fall. 

The  unexpected  spectacle  stayed  the  tumult 
for  a  moment.  Then  as  a  hoarse  murmur  rose, 
Judge  Roscoe  turned  toward  the  foremost  stand 
ing  at  the  foot  of  the  attic  flight. 

"Lend  a  hand  here,"  he  said  with  a  calm, 
steady  voice.  Then,  looking  over  the  balustrade 
to  those  below,  "  Has  the  surgeon  come  ?  " 

The  question  went  from  one  to  another  — 
«  Has  the  surgeon  come  ? "  to  those  that  filled 
the  halls  and  made  sudden  excursions  to  and  fro 
in  the  adjoining  rooms  as  suspicion  of  hiding- 
places  occurred  to  them ;  to  others  that  gorged 
the  main  staircase,  packed  close  at  its  head,  with 
necks  craning  forward,  and  ears  and  eyes  intent 
to  hear  and  see  what  had  chanced. 

By  this  time  officers  were  in  the  house  and  the 
unwelcome  voice  of  command  curtailed  the  ac 
tivities  of  the  mob  and  reduced  it  speedily  to  the 
aspect  of  soldiery.  The  voice  of  command  had 
irate  intonations,  and  one  or  two  of  the  younger 


182  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

officers  showed  a  disposition  to  lay  about  with 
the  flat  of  their  swords,  as  a  "  wand  of  author 
ity  "  indeed,  but,  apparently  inadvertently,  deal 
ing  blows  that  had  tingling  intimations.  They 
cleared  the  mansion  quickly,  the  unruly  mani 
festation  serving  to  minimize  its  provocation. 

To  Judge  Roscoe's  infinite  relief  the  officers 
were  disposed  to  regard  the  disturbance  as  one  of 
those  inexplicable  attacks  of  folly  which  some 
times  lay  hold  on  a  mass  of  men,  but  which 
would  be  incapable  of  affecting  them  as  indi 
viduals.  For  a  search-party  organized  on  a  strict 
military  principle  had  carefully  ransacked  every 
portion  of  the  house  and  cellar  and  also  the  attic, 
—  where  no  traces  betrayed  recent  habitation, — 
examined  all  the  vineyard,  hedges,  shrubbery, 
and  even  the  boughs  of  the  great  trees,  and 
invaded  the  stable,  barn,  crib,  ice-house,  poul 
try  yards,  dairy,  kennel,  dove-cote,  the  miscel 
laneous  outbuildings,  sties  and  byres,  all  empty, 
devoid  even  of  the  usual  domestic  animals  —  ab 
solutely  with  no  result.  No  Confederate  fugitive, 
covered  with  blood  or  in  any  other  plight,  was 
found,  and  in  the  thrice-guarded  camps  that  sur 
rounded  the  place  escape  seemed  impossible. 
The  ranking  officer  who  ordered  the  search  natu 
rally  believed  that  the  sudden  conviction  of  the 
presence  of  a  Confederate  soldier  in  the  house  was 
a  sheer  delusion,  promulgated  and  distorted  by 
rumor.  Some  story  of  Captain  Baynell's  fall  and 
wound,  caught  possibly  from  the  messenger  sent 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  183 

to  fetch  the  surgeon,  had  been  misunderstood. 
This  he  considered  was  the  only  reasonable  ex 
planation.  No  one,  he  argued,  could  have  escaped 
under  the  circumstances.  No  Rebel  was  in  the 
house  or  in  the  grounds.  It  was  impossible  for 
a  man  to  have  fled  except  into  the  midst  of  the 
camps. 

Notwithstanding  the  conviction  thus  reached, 
special  precautionary  measures  were  taken.  New 
sentries  were  stationed  on  the  rear  and  west  of 
the  house  as  well  as  in  front.  These  posts  were 
to  be  visited  by  a  sergeant  with  a  patrol,  twice 
during  the  night.  If  any  Rebel  had  contrived 
to  escape  from  the  place,  he  would  find  it  diffi 
cult  indeed  to  reenter  it.  These  duties  con 
cluded,  the  officer  dismissed  the  whole  matter  as 
a  canard  or  one  of  the  inexplicable  manifesta 
tions  of  human  folly,  and  departed,  leaving  quiet 
descending  upon  the  distracted  scene. 

It  was  the  cook,  Aunt  Chaney,  who  had  been 
sent  at  full  speed  for  the  surgeon.  She  had 
vaguely  understood  from  old  Ephraim's  aspect 
and  frantic  mandate  that  something  terrifying 
had  befallen  the  household,  and  she  did  not  real 
ize  until  afterward  the  sacrifice  of  dignity  her 
aspect  must  have  presented  as  she  ran,  fatly 
waddling,  over  the  hill,  across  the  commons,  and 
then  up  a  path  to  a  hospital  on  an  eminence  over 
looking  the  town,  formerly  a  Medical  College. 
She  was  bonnetless,  limping  actively,  for  one  of 
her  large,  loose  slippers  had  gone,  and  gone  for- 


184  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

ever.  Its  loss  destroyed  the  equipoise  of  her 
gait ;  her  unshod  foot  was  pierced  with  stones 
and  chilled  with  the  damp  ground ;  her  sleeves 
were  rolled  up,  her  arms  held  out  at  a  bandy 
angle,  for  her  fingers  were  dripping  with  cake- 
batter,  and  she  did  not  have  sufficient  composure 
to  wring  them  free  till  she  was  following  the 
surgeon  home. 

The  condition  of  the  messenger  intimated  the 
seriousness  of  the  call,  and  the  surgeon  hardly 
waited  to  hear  more  than  the  wild  appeal  — 
"  Come  at  once  !  Captain  Baynell  has  killed  his- 
self — Heabenly  Friend  !  I  wish  he  could  hev'  tuk 
enny  other  premises  ter  hev'  c'mitted  the  deed." 
As  she  toiled  along  behind  the  surgeon,  "  Oh,  my 
Lawd  an'  King  !  "  she  panted  at  intervals. 

Baynell  remained  unconscious  for  some  time. 
When  at  length  he  came  to  himself  he  was  lying 
quietly  in  the  great,  commodious  bedroom  that 
he  had  of  late  occupied  in  the  storm  centre,  the 
green  Venetian  blinds  half  closed,  the  afternoon 
sunlight  softly  flecking  the  carpet,  the  air  of  high 
decorum  and  gentle  nurture  which  so  character 
ized  the  place  peculiarly  in  evidence,  and  old 
Ephraim  noiselessly  flitting  about  with  a  palm- 
leaf  fan  in  his  hand,  ready  to  annihilate  any 
vagrant  fly  with  enough  temerity  to  appear. 

"Ye  los'  yer  balance,  sah,  an'  fell  down  de 
steers,"  he  unctuously  explained. 

« I  know  —  I  remember  that  —  but  who  — 
where  is  that  Rebel  officer?" 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  185 

"I  reckon  ye  mus'  hev'  drempt  about  him, 
Cap'n,"  the  "double-faced  Janus"  responded 
casually,  with  the  superior  air  of  humoring  a  de 
lusion.  "  Ye  been  talkin'  'bout  him  afore  whenst 
ye  wuz  deelerious.  But  dar  ain't  none  ob  dem 
miser'ble  slave-drivers  round  dese  diggings  now'- 
days,  praise  de  Lawd !  Freedom  come  wid  de 
Union  army." 

This  assurance  convinced  the  Federal  officer. 
The  old  servant's  interest  was  so  obviously  with 
the  invading  force  that  his  motive  was  not  open 
to  question.  Moreover,  it  was  not  the  first  time 
that  Baynell  had  dreamed  of  the  Confederate 
officer,  the  erstwhile  lover  of  Leonora  Gwynn, 
whose  splendid  portrait  hung  on  the  wall,  and 
whom  she  often  mentioned  with  interest. 

When  the  surgeon  next  called  he  expressed  to 
his  patient  great  surprise :  "  It  is  very  natural 
that  in  your  state  of  convalescence  you  should 
grow  dizzy  and  fall ;  but  I  can't  for  my  life  under 
stand  how  you  contrived  to  get  such  a  blow  from 
the  edge  of  a  step.  It  has  all  the  style  about 
it  of  a  hit  straight  from  the  shoulder  of  an  expert 
boxer.  Uncle  Ephraim  doesn't  happen  to  be  some 
thing  of  a  pugilist,  now  ? "  he  added  jocosely, 
smiling  and  glancing  at  the  old  negro. 

« I  don't  happen  to  be  nuffin,  sah,  dat  ain't 
perlite,"  grinned  the  amenable  «  Janus." 

"  Your  friends  downstairs  seemed  frightened 
out  of  their  wits,  Baynell,  —  lest  your  wound 
should  be  imputed  to  them,  I  suppose,"  the  sur- 


186  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

geon  said  openly,  for  he  did  not  consider  the 
presence  of  the  ex-slave. 

"  Yes,  sah !  "  put  in  Uncle  Ephraim,  "  eider  me 
or  Marster,  or  de  widder  'oman,  or  de  ladies  air 
sure  bound  ter  hev'  knocked  him  up  dat  way, 
kase  'twould  take  a  puffick  reel-foot  man  ter  fall 
downstairs  dat  fashion.  Yah  !  Yah  !  " 

It  did  not  occur  to  Baynell  to  doubt  this  state 
ment,  and  not  one  word  did  he  say  to  the  surgeon 
of  his  dream  of  the  presence  of  the  Confederate 
officer.  He  made  no  effort  to  account  for  the 
disaster,  merely  lending  himself  to  the  surgeon's 
view  that  he  had  grown  suddenly  dizzy  and  the 
stairs  were  steep  in  the  third  flight. 

This  gave  the  surgeon  a  disquieting  sense  of 
suspicion  some  time  afterward.  When  returning 
from  his  tour  of  duty  at  the  hospital  he  was  again 
in  the  camp,  he  heard  there  the  amazing  rumor 
among  the  soldiers  that  a  Confederate  officer,  cov 
ered  with  blood,  had  been  seen  to  issue  from  the 
Roscoe  house  and  with  lightning-like  speed  dis 
appear  among  the  shrubbery.  He  wondered  that 
Baynell  should  not  have  mentioned  the  commo 
tion,  forgetting  that  as  he  was  unconscious  he 
might  be  still  unaware  of  the  fact. 

Dr.  Grindley  was  not  of  a  designing  nature; 
but  he  was  consciously  experimenting  when  he 
said,  rather  banteringly,  on  his  next  visit,  "  How 
about  the  notion  that  there  was  a  Confederate 
officer  concealed  in  this  house  ?  " 

Baynell  looked  annoyed.      He  had   heard  as 


THE  STORM  CENTRE  187 

yet  not  an  allusion  to  the  raid  upon  the  house 
during  the  period  of  his  insensibility,  and  he  did 
not  know  that  the  presence  of  a  Confederate  offi 
cer  had  even  been  rumored.  He  supposed  that 
the  doctor  referred  to  the  chance  question  he  had 
asked  Uncle  Ephraim,  and  he  deprecated  the  fact 
that  the  old  man  should  have  heedlessly  repeated 
this.  The  dream  of  the  altercation,  as  he  fancied 
the  recollection,  was  still  vague  in  his  mind,  and 
with  that  quality  of  unreality  and  so  blended 
with  other  visions  of  his  delirium  and  fever  that 
he  in  naught  doubted  its  tenuous  state  as  a  fig 
ment  of  a  disordered  brain. 

"There  was  no  Rebel,"  he  said  somewhat  gruffly. 

"  That  was  all  merely  the  love  of  sensation  ?  " 
asked  the  surgeon. 

«  Of  course,"  Baynell  assented,  and  fell  silent. 

This  had  been  the  conclusion  among  the  offi 
cers  of  the  surrounding  camp,  and  it  was  not  sur 
prising  to  the  surgeon  that  Baynell  should  share 
it,  but  there  was  a  consciousness,  a  mortification, 
in  his  manner,  that  implied  a  personal  interest 
and  forced  the  question  to  be  dropped.  The 
surgeon  had  no  wish  to  press  it,  and  moreover 
he  was  anxious  to  avoid  exciting  the  patient. 
He  had  some  doubt  as  to  the  result  of  the  fall ; 
he  was  meditating  seriously  on  symptoms  which 
indicated  that  the  skull  had  sustained  a  fracture. 
But  when  he  remarked  that  all  might  be  well  if 
Captain  Baynell  remained  quiet  and  stirred  as 
little  as  possible,  he  was  surprised  and  dismayed 


188  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

by  the  vehemence  with  which  the  patient  declared 
that  he  must  move ;  he  must  leave  the  house ;  he 
could  not,  he  would  not  stay  under  this  roof 
another  night,  not  even  an  hour  longer.  He 
requested  the  surgeon  to  make  arrangements  to 
attend  him  elsewhere,  and  rang  the  bell  to  send 
a  message  to  camp  directing  his  servant  to  come 
and  get  his  personal  effects.  Only  a  sleeping- 
potion  could  restrain  this  determination  at  the 
time,  and  the  next  day  a  return  of  the  fever 
and  delirium  solved  the  surgeon's  problem  how 
to  bend  the  will  of  the  refractory  patient  to  the 
demands  of  his  own  best  interests. 

Uncle  Ephraim  found  some  difficulty  in  sus 
taining  with  composure  the  disasters  and  excite 
ment  and  fears  that  crowded  in  upon  him.  He 
must  play  his  part  with  requisite  spirit  when 
in  presence  of  the  public,  and  he  must  suffer  in 
silence  and  alone.  He  dared  not  seek  to  con 
fer  apart  with  his  master  as  to  the  next  step, 
lest  he  rouse  suspicion  that  they  had  some  secret 
understanding,  and  had  indeed  harbored  the 
enemy.  He  dared  not  confide  his  troubles  even 
to  his  wife,  Aunt  Chaney,  although  he  yearned 
for  sympathy,  for  reassurance.  The  old  cook, 
however,  had  not  been  admitted  to  any  detail  of 
the  secret  presence  of  Julius  in  the  house.  For 
aught  she  knew,  even  now,  he  was  five  hundred 
miles  away. 

The  perversity  of  the  falling  out  of  events  dis 
mayed  and  daunted  old  Ephraim.  Only  that 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  189 

morning  —  the  morning  of  that  momentous  day 
—  Captain  Baynell  had  announced  at  the  table 
the  termination  of  his  visit. 

"  An'  it  wuz  time,  too.  'Fore  de  Lawd,  it  wuz 
surely  time,"  the  old  servant  grumbled,  in  surly 
retrospect.  For  had  the  officer  but  taken  his 
leave  and  his  cigar  together,  how  different  it 
might  all  have  been  !  "  Marse  Julius  mought 
hev'  seen  Miss  Leonora,  an'  mebbe  de  ladies,  an' 
come  down  inter  de  house  an'  smoked  a  &?£gar 
wid  his  Pa.  Lawdy,  massy !  wid  de  curtains 
drawed,  an'  de  blinds  down.  Dat's  whut  he 
honed  for !  Oh,  'fore  Gawd,  I  dunno  whar  dat 
baby -chile  —  dat  pore  leetle  Julius  —  is  now  ! " 

His  face  caught  a  fleeting  grimace  to  remem 
ber  the  height  of  the  "  baby-chile,"  — but  as  help 
less,  as  forlorn,  as  some  tiny  waif,  and  oh,  so 
terribly  threatened  in  this  beleaguered,  in  this 
thrice-guarded,  town! 

When  at  last  he  was  dismissed  from  his  station 
in  the  sick  room  by  the  sinking  of  Baynell  into 
slumber  under  the  influence  of  the  sedative  ad 
ministered  by  the  surgeon,  old  Ephraim,  succumb 
ing  both  in  physique  and  in  spirit,  even  in  gait, 
stumbled  downstairs  and  took  his  way  into  the 
kitchen  to  find  some  talk  of  trifles,  some  stir  of 
the  familiar  duties,  that  might  enable  him  to  be 
rid  of  his  unquiet  thoughts,  of  his  dread  prognos 
tications,  of  his  sheer  terror  of  the  future.  He 
sunk  into  a  wooden  chair  beside  the  stove,  for 
the  cooking  of  supper  was  already  under  way. 


190  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

He  was  feeling  very  old  and  weary.  His  coun 
tenance  seemed  to  have  collapsed  in  some  sort, 
so  did  his  usual  expression  of  brisk  satisfaction 
and  dapper  respectfulness  and  reserve  of  intelli 
gence  prop  and  sustain  its  contours.  Its  bony 
structure  now  seemed  withdrawn.  It  was  a  sort 
of  dilapidated  mask  of  desolation.  He  drew  a 
long  sigh.  And  then  he  said  :  — 

"  Dis  is  a  tur'ble,  tur'ble  world,  mon  !  " 

"  Dis  world  is  a  long  sight  better  dan  de  nex' 
world  for  you  !  "  said  his  wife,  rancorously  pro 
phetic.  "  You  hear  me  !  " 

The  imperious  Chaney  had  not  collapsed.  Her 
"  head-handkercher "  was  bestowed  in  a  turban 
that  had  two  high  standing  ends  like  tufts  of 
feathers  above  her  black,  resolute  face.  Her 
black  eyes  snapped  as  she  looked  beyond  him, 
not  at  him.  She  was  stepping  about,  stoutly, 
firmly,  audibly,  in  her  Sunday  shoes,  for  no 
amount  of  mourning  materialized  the  lost  slip 
shod  chaussure  —  pressed  deep  in  the  mud  of  the 
highway  by  wagon-wheels  and  the  uninformed 
hoof  of  an  unimaginative  army  mule. 

Uncle  Ephraim  gazed  up  in  growing  anxiety, 
not  to  say  fright,  for  Aunt  Chaney's  mood  was 
not  suave.  She  suddenly  paused  on  the  other 
side  of  the  stove,  and,  gesticulating  across  it 
with  a  long  spoon,  demanded :  "  You  —  ole  — 
distracted  —  cawnfield  —  hand  !  What  fur  did 
you  send  me  fur  de  doctor-man?" 

"  Whut  you  go  fur,  den  ?  " 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  191 

Aunt  Chaney  reflected  on  her  appearance  on 
the  highway,  in  her  old  homespun  dress,  "  coat," 
as  she  called  it,  one  slipper,  no  bonnet,  the  cake- 
dough  dripping  from  her  hands.  She  remem 
bered  that  some  wagoners  of  a  forage  train, 
struck  by  her  agitated  aspect,  had  looked  back 
to  laugh  from  their  high  perches  among  the 
hay  and  fodder ;  she  remembered  that  some 
little  imp-like  boys  had  twitted  her,  calling  after 
her  in  their  high,  callow  chirp,  and  sorry  was 
she  that  she  had  not  left  all  to  chase  them  —  to 
chase  them  till  they  died  of  fright !  She  —  she 
who  was  accustomed  to  flaunt  in  a  "  change 
able  "  silk,  and  her  bonnet  had  an  ostrich  plume ! 
She  wore  a  bracelet,  too,  on  grand  occasions, 
and  this  was  gold,  solid  and  heavy,  fine  and 
engraved,  for  "  Miss  Leonora "  herself  had  it 
bought  in  New  Orleans  expressly  for  her,  after 
she  had  discovered  and  unaided  extinguished 
a  midnight  fire.  Not  that  old  Chaney  would 
have  wasted  all  this  splendor  on  the  errand  for 
the  doctor.  If  she  had  thought  but  for  a  mo 
ment,  she  would  have  garbed  herself  as  now,  as 
she  did  instantly  on  her  return  home,  to  save 
her  self-respect,  —  in  a  purple  calico  and  a  clean, 
white,  domestic  apron,  with  her  respected  and 
respectable  green-and-white  checked  sun-bonnet, 
all  laundered,  as  ever,  to  absolute  perfection. 
Her  haste  had  destroyed  her  judgment. 

"  Whyn't  ye  tole  me  dat  de  man  hed  jes'  fell 
downsteers,  —  when  ye  come  out  yere,  howlin' 


192  THE   STORM  CENTRE 

lak  a  painter  wid  a  misery  in  his  jaw.  I  'lowed 
de  Yankee  had  deestroyed  hisself  on  dese  yere 
premises." 

"  So  did  I !  So  did  I !  He  bled  —  and  lied  !  " 
Old  Ephraim  paused,  his  face  fallen.  The  asso 
ciation  of  ideas  brought  by  the  mention  of  blood 
was  uncanny. 

"  What  ailed  de  man  dat  he  hatter  fall  down- 
steers  ?  " 

"  I  dunno."     The  denial  was  pat. 

"Whut's  he  come  down  here  fightin'  in  the 
War  without  he's  able  ter  keep  from  fallin' 
downsteers  ?  De  Roscoes  kin  stan'  up !  I'll 
say  dat  fur  'em." 

"Dey  kin  dat,"  replied  the  "double-faced 
Janus"  admiringly,  thinking  of  Julius. 

"  How  long  he  gwine  stay  ?  " 

"  'Twell  he  git  well,  I  reckon." 

"  Den  /  say  dis  ain't  no  house  nor  home.  Dis 
is  horspital  Number  Forty  —  dat's  whut.  Marse 
Gerald  Roscoe  ain't  got  no  more  sense  'n  a  good- 
sized  chicken,  dough  he  is  a  jedge,  ter  hev'  dat 
man  yere  fur  Miss  Leonora  ter  keer  fur,  an'  take 
ter  marryin'  agin  'fore  her  old  sweetheart,  Julius 
Roscoe,  kin  git  home.  'Fore  de  Lawd,  I  stood 
it  ez  long  ez  dere  seemed  enny  end  to  it,  but 
now  — "  she  banged  her  pots,  and  pans,  and 
kettles  about  with  virulence. 

"Marse  Julius,"  she  continued,  "he's  de  man 
fur  Leonora  Roscoe,  —  I  ain't  gwine  call  her 
'  Crwynn,'  —  Marse  Julius  is  good-hearted  and 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  193 

free-handed ;  I  knowed  him  from  a  baby,  an' 
he  wuz  a  big  one !  I  always  knowed  he  war  in 
love  wid  her  ever  since  dat  Christmas  up  at  the 
Devrett  place,  when  he  an'  some  o'  dem  limber- 
jack  Devrett  boys  got  inter  de  wall  or  inter  de 
groun'  —  I  dunno  whar  —  an'  sung  right  inter  de 
company's  ear,  powerful  mysterious,  —  skeered 
'em  all !  Marse  Julius,  he  tuk  his  guitar  an'  sung, 
—  <  Oh,  my  love's  like  a  red,  red  rose  ! '  An'  she 
looked  lak  one  while  she  listened,  fur  she  knowed 
his  voice.  I  wuz  peekin'  in  at  de  company  at 
de  winder  —  Lawd  —  Lawd  !  I  'lowed  dat  would 
be  a  match  —  but  yere  come  along  dat  Gwynn 
feller ! " 

A  sudden  white  flare  of  burning  lard  spread 
over  the  red-hot  stove,  for  Uncle  Ephraim 
had  sprung  up  so  abruptly  as  to  strike  the 
long  handle  of  the  skillet  and  overturn  the 
utensil. 

"  Ain't  ye  got  no  mo'  use  of  yer  haid  'n 
ter  go  buttin'  'roun'  de  kitchen,  lak  a  ole  dee- 
stracted  Billy-goat,  lak  you  is ! "  Aunt  Chaney 
demanded. 

As  the  smoke  circled  about  she  snatched  up 
the  skillet  with  its  flaming  contents. 

"  Git  out  my  kitchen,  else  I'll  scald  de  grizzled 
woolly  soul  out'n  you  !  " 

"Bress  de  Lawd,  'oman,  /  ain't  wan  tin'  ter 
stay  in  yer  kitchen,"  said  Uncle  Ephraim,  sud 
denly  spry  and  saucy  and  brisk,  —  a  trifle  more 
brisk,  indeed,  accelerating  his  pace  toward  the 


194  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

door,  as  she  took  two  or  three  long,  agile,  elastic 
steps  toward  him. 

"  I  got  other  feesh  ter  fry ! "  he  chuckled  to 
himself. 

For  the  blazing  lard  but  typified  a  certain 
illumination  in  old  Ephraim's  mind. 


CHAPTER    X 

IT  was  a  clear,  gusty  night  when  he  emerged 
on  the  lawn  at  the  side  entrance  of  the  house. 
For  two  hours  with  the  faint  and  freakish  light 
of  candle  ends  he  had  been  rummaging  over  old 
chests  and  boxes  in  the  attic.  The  aspect  of  the 
desolate,  deserted  place  that  had  held  his  young 
master,  a  tenant  dear  to  his  loyal  heart,  wrung 
from  him  a  sigh.  Sometimes  he  dropped  his 
hands,  lifted  himself  from  his  crouching  atti 
tude  to  a  kne'eling  posture,  looked  wistfully 
about  the  dreary,  dusty  silence,  shook  his  head 
sorrowfully  to  and  fro,  and  then  once  more  ad 
dressed  himself  to  his  search.  When  he  began 
to  find  the  various  articles  he  desired,  he  grew 
tremulous,  agitated.  His  breath  was  fast,  and 
now  and  again  he  must  needs  check  himself  in 
his  disposition  to  fluent  soliloquy  lest  some  one 
overhear  in  his  sonorous  voice  such  significant 
words  as  would  reveal  his  intention.  When 
these  seizures  supervened,  he  became  anxious 
concerning  the  possible  betrayal  of  his  enter 
prise  by  the  feeble  light  cast  from  the  win 
dows,  and  ever  and  anon  he  screened  the  bit 
of  candle  behind  a  trunk  or  some  massive  piece 
of  furniture.  He  knew  that  the  house  was 

195 


196  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

a  marked  spot ;  the  events  of  the  day  had  ren 
dered  the  locality  of  special  and  suspicious  inter 
est  to  all  the  camps  in  the  vicinity.  Many  an  eye 
was  turned  thither,  he  was  aware,  as  the  evening 
drew  on,  and  in  fact  he  hardly  dared  to  light  the 
tiny  tapers  till  he  had  heard  tattoo  sound  and 
taps  beat.  The  tents  were  lost  in  darkness  and 
slumber,  but  there  were  the  camp  and  quarter 
guards,  and  soon  would  come  the  patrol  and 
grand  rounds.  The  sentries  about  the  house 
gave  him  less  anxiety. 

"  They  be  'bleeged  to  know  we-all  keep  some 
of  our  stuff  in  the  garrit  —  mought  be  huntin' 
fur  suthin'  fur  dat  ar  Yankee  man's  nicked  haid. 
But  I  ain't!"  he  soliloquized. 

When  at  last  he  had  found  all  he  desired,  he 
extinguished  the  light  and  quietly  waited.  Thus 
in  the  darkness  the  place  was  even  more  grew- 
some  with  its  associations  of  concealment  and 
flight,  the  imminence  of  his  young  master's 
capture  and  violent  death.  He  heard  his  heart 
plunge  at  every  stir  of  the  wind,  every  clash  of 
the  boughs,  and  he  muttered :  "  Dat  pore  chile 
wuz  denied  a  light.  His  Pa  p'intedly  wouldn't 
'low  him  a  candle,  fur  fear  folks  would  spy  it 
out.  An'  here  he  set  an'  waited  in  de  ever- 
lastin'  night!" 

Old  Ephraim  suffered  here  in  the  dark  from  a 
terror  which  had  loosed  its  hold  on  his  young 
master  long  ago,  —  the  fear  of  the  supernatural. 
Ghosts  of  many  types,  "  ha'nts,"  headless  horrors, 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  197 

spectral  sounds  from  the  other  world,  direful 
prognostications  of  signs,  all  in  grisly  procession 
passed  and  repassed  and  crowded  the  garret 
to  suffocation.  It  would  be  impossible  to  im 
agine  what  the  old  gray-headed  negro  saw  and 
heard  as  he  crouched  on  the  dusty  floor,  and  lis 
tened  to  the  rout  of  the  wind  in  the  trees,  and 
watched  the  eerie  aspect  of  the  old  furniture, 
itself  associated  with  the  long-gone  dead,  as 
the  moon  and  the  gust-driven  shadowy  clouds 
flickered  and  faded  and  flickered  and  faded 
across  the  dim  spaces.  When  suddenly  a  shrill 
sound  pierced  the  ghostly  solitude,  he  fell 
prone  in  complete  surrender  on  the  floor,  terri 
fied,  his  nerves  almost  shattered.  An  inarticu 
late  scream  came  again  and  again,  and  then  a 
low  chuckling  chatter.  A  screech-owl,  a  tiny 
thing,  had  alighted  on  the  window-sill,  and  hear 
ing  the  stir,  turned  its  head  without  shifting  its 
body,  its  great  round  eyes  encountering  the 
reproachful  rolling  stare  of  old  Ephraim  as  he 
tremulously  gathered  himself  from  the  floor. 
Taking  a  package  under  his  arm  under  the  long 
coat  he  wore,  he  at  last  went  noiselessly  and 
swiftly  down  the  stairs. 

He  looked  out  needfully  for  Judge  Roscoe, 
whom  he  did  not  wish  to  encounter. 

"Marster  hes  been  a  jedge,  an'  dey  say  he 
hes  set  on  de  bench  —  dough  I  dunno  whut  fur 
dat's  so  oncommon,  fur  mos'  ennybody  kin  set 
on  a  bench  J  He's  sot  in  his  own  cushioned 


198  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

arm-chair  in  de  lawbrary  whut  kin  lean  back 
wards  on  a  spring,  and  recline  his  foots  upwards, 
an'  dat's  a  deal  ch'icer  dan  enny  bench  I  knows 
on !  But  he's  been  a  jedge,  an'  he's  got  book- 
larnin',  but  somehow  I  'low  he  ain't  tricky 
enough  ter  be  up  ter  dis  kink.  I  ain't  gwine 
ter  let  him  know  nuffin'." 

When  fairly  out  of  the  house  all  suggestion  of 
secrecy  and  caution  vanished.  The  old  darkey 
flung  his  feet  on  the  stone  steps  with  a  noisy 
impact,  and  before  he  reached  the  pavement,  he 
had  burst  into  song,  marking  the  time  with  an 
emphatic  rhythm — a  wide  blare  of  melody  with 
a  great  baritone  voice,  that  sounded  far  down 
the  bosky  recesses  of  the  grove,  all  dappled  with 
shadow  and  sheen. 

"  Rige  an'  shine,  children  ! 

Rise  an'  shine,  children ! 

Rise  an?  shine,  children  ! 
De  angels  bid  me  ter  come  along ! 
0-h-h,  I  want  ter  go  ter  heaben  when  I  die  —  " 

He  broke  off  suddenly.  He  did  not  wait  to 
be  challenged  by  the  sentry  as  he  turned,  but 
greeted  him  with  a  sort  of  plaintive  humility 
and  a  mendicant's  confiding  manner. 

"Marse  Soldier,  could  ye  gimme  a  chaw  of 
terbacker,  please,  sir  ?  " 

The  soldier  would  not  have  allowed  even  one 
of  his  own  officers  to  pass  from  the  house  or 
enter  it  without  the  countersign,  but  he  was 
thrown  off  his  guard  by  this  personal  appeal; 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  199 

and  although  he  could  not  comply  with  the 
request,  not  being  given  to  the  bad  habit  of 
"  chawin'  terbacker,"  he  shifted  his  weapon 
from  hand  to  hand  while  he  rummaged  his 
pockets  for  "  fine-cut "  for  the  pipe  of  old 
Ephraim  —  the  fraud,  who  was  amply  supplied. 

"  Neb  mind  —  neb  mind,"  the  old  man  said 
deprecatingly.  "  Thanky,  sah,  thanky  !  Dere's 
anodder  soldier  round  de  front  po'ch  —  inebbe 
he's  got  a  chaw ! " 

And  this  sentinel,  having  listened  to  the  col 
loquy  with  his  comrade,  as  well  as  distance 
would  permit,  adopted  his  friendly  tactics  and 
was  able  to  produce  the  requisite  "  chaw."  He 
naturally  supposed  the  countersign  had  been  de 
manded  and  given  at  the  door  whence  the  ser 
vant  of  the  house  emerged,  for  after  unctuous  and 
profuse  thanks  old  Ephraim  swung  off  down  the 
hill  with  another  great  gush  of  song  —  "I  want 
ter  go  ter  heaben  when  I  die  —  "  echoing  far  over 
the  grove  and  the  silent  camps  beyond. 

Listening  to  the  resounding  progress  of  his  de 
parture  the  first  sentry  thought  of  course  that  in 
letting  him  pass  his  comrade  had  taken  the  coun 
tersign.  It  was  only  a  vague  thought,  however, 
cast  after  him.  "  That  old  night-hawk  is  bound 
for  the  river,  I  guess,  going  fishing,"  for  nocturnal 
angling  was  the  favorite  sport  of  the  darkeys  of 
the  region. 

The  soldier  did  not  even  notice  when  the  surge 
of  the  chant  gave  way  to  a  musical  whistle,  still 


200  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

carrying  the  air  with  great  spirit  and  a  sort  of 
enthusiasm  of  rhythm,  "An'  de  angels  bid  me 
ter  come  along."  Still  less  did  he  discriminate 
the  difference  in  the  change  of  sound,  not  imme 
diately  apparent,  so  elusive  was  it,  and  difficult 
to  describe,  when  a  whistle  of  a  different  timbre 
took  up  the  air  and  finished  the  phrase  —  "  I'll 
shout  salvation  as  I  fly  !  "  After  a  pause  Uncle 
Ephraim  was  in  the  distance,  humming  now, 
and  soon  all  sound  ceased.  Both  the  sentinels 
would  have  sworn  he  had  quitted  the  grove. 

But  it  was  not  alone  the  wind  among  the  young 
firs  that  tossed  their  branches  to  and  fro,  when 
trembling,  terrorized,  casting  now  and  then  a  hor 
rified,  rebuking  glance  at  the  radiant  moon,  as 
the  flying  scud  drew  back  and  left  the  sphere  un- 
dimmed,  he  sought  the  spot  he  had  marked  when 
the  responsive  whistle  had  apprised  him  that  his 
signal  was  understood  and  answered.  At  length 
he  paused  to  catch  his  breath  and  wipe  the  cold 
drops  from  his  brow. 

"  Lawdy  massy  !  dese  yere  shines  dat  dis  yere 
Rebel  cuts  up  will  be  de  death  ob  me  —  ef  dey 
ain't  de  death  ob  himse'f  fust ! " 

He  judged  from  his  close  observation  he  was 
on  the  spot  —  yet  he  could  not  ascertain  it. 
Suddenly  hard  by  the  roots  of  a  great  lush  speci 
men  of  a  Norway  spruce,  the  boughs  lying  far  on 
the  ground,  his  foot  slipped  on  the  thick  spread 
of  the  fallen  needles.  He  could  not  recover  him 
self.  He  was  going  down  —  down.  His  cour- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  201 

age  all  evaporated.  He  would  have  screamed  if 
he  could.  In  his  terror  he  had  almost  lost  con 
sciousness  till  all  at  once  he  felt  a  strong  grasp  of 
aid  and  heard  a  familiar  smothered  laugh  that 
restored  his  faculties  with  the  realization  of 
success  and  the  recognition  of  a  friend  at 
hand. 

"  Hesh  !  Hesh !  "  he  said  imperatively.  «  Dat 
laffin'  an'  laffin'  is  gwine  ter  be  de  ^struction 
ob  you  an'  all  yer  house,  an'  'fore  de  Lawd,  ole 
Ephraim,  too ! " 

He  had  no  response,  but  he  had  submitted  him 
self  to  guidance.  He  was  being  led  along  a  down 
ward  course  in  a  narrow  subterranean  passage, 
his  feet  shuffling  and  kicking  uncertainly  as  he 
ludicrously  sought  for  the  ground  and  to  accom 
modate  his  gait  to  the  easy  accustomed  stride  of 
his  conductor.  They  made  more  than  one  turn 
before  Julius  paused  and  said :  "  We  might  as 
well  stop  here,  Uncle  Ephraim.  We  can  sit  down 
on  the  rocks.  Did  my  father  send  me  any  mes 
sage  ?  Is  the  officer  much  hurt  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  you  kin  pitch  folks  down  them 
steep  steers,  an'  not  hurt  'em,  you  owdacious,  mis- 
chile !  His  head  is  consider'ble  nicked, 
t's  a  fac' !  " 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  Julius,  evidently  much  re 
lieved.  "  What  word  did  my  father  send  me  ?  " 

"No  word!  He  didn't  know  whar  dee  is  — 
an'  I  didn't  tell  him  whar  I  was  goin'  ter  hunt 
fur  dee." 


202  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"  Oh,  but  he  must  know  —  he  must  not  be  left 
so  uneasy.  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  had  never  come  to 
disturb  and  endanger  my  good  father ! " 

It  was  dark,  and  he  did  not  care  that  Uncle 
Ephraim  should  hear  his  sobs. 

"  Now,  look-a-yere,  Marse  Julius,  chile  —  de  less 
folks  knows  'bout  dee,  de  less  dey  is  liable  ter  be 
anxious.  What  you  reckon  I  brung  dee  ?  " 

"  Some  supper  ?  " 

« Lawd,  no !  I  ain't  hed  time  ter  git  ye 
supper." 

"  Some  money  ?  I  don't  want  any  money. 
My  father  gave  me  money  in  case  of  any  neces 
sity  when  I  was  to  run  the  pickets  —  gold!" 
He  chinked  some  coins  alluringly  in  his  pocket. 

"  'Tain't  money.     It's  —  does  !  " 

"  Clothes  ?  "  said  Julius,  uncertainly. 

« 'Twas  dat  ar  tarrifyin'  Rebel  uniform  dat  got 
dee  in  dis  trouble  ter-day.  Ye  got  ter  change  dem 
cloes.  Ye  can't  run  de  pickets,  an'  ye  can't  git 
out'n  de  lines  nohow  in  dem  cloes." 

Julius  hesitated.  The  uniform  was  in  one  sense 
a  protection.  To  be  taken  in  his  proper  character, 
even  lurking  in  hiding,  did  not  necessarily  expose 
him  to  the  accusation  of  being  a  spy  which  cap 
ture  in  disguise  would  inevitably  fix  upon  him. 

"What  clothes  did  you  bring,  —  Aunt  Cha- 
ney's  ?  "  he  asked,  prefiguring  a  female  disguise, 
and  reflecting  on  the  ample  size  and  notable  height 
of  the  cook. 

A  sort  of  sharp  yelp  of  dismay  came  out  of  the 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  203 

darkness.  Old  Ephraim  wriggled  and  shuffled 
his  feet  audibly  on  the  rocks  in  his  effort  at  em 
phasis  and  absolute  negation. 

«  Marse  Julius  you  is  gone  deranged !  Surely, 
surely,  you  is  los'  what  sense  you  ever  had  !  Cha- 
ney  wouldn't  loan  ye  ez  much  ez  a  apern  or  a  skirt 
out'n  her  chist  ter  save  ye  from  de  pit  o'  perdi 
tion  !  I  hes  been  reckless  and  darin'  in  my  time, 
but  de  Lawd  knows  I  never  was  so  forsook  by 
Providence  as  ter  set  out  ter  carry  off  any  wearin' 
apparel  belongin'  ter  dat  'oman,  what's  gin  ober 
ter  de  love  o'  de  cloes  in  her  chist.  Dat  chist  is 
de  idol  ob  dat  ^stracted  heathen  'oman,  an'  de 
debbil  will  burn  her  well  for  de  love  o'  de  vani 
ties  she's  got  tucked  away  dar.  Chaney's  cloes ! 
Gawd  A'mighty  !  Chanetfs  cloes  !  Borry  Chaney's 
cloes ! " 

« Well,  whose  clothes,  then,  Uncle  Ephraim  ? 
You  know  I  couldn't  get  into  the  citizen's  clothes 
I  left  at  home.  I'm  three  inches  taller,  and  a  deal 
stouter.  And  it  would  be  dangerous  to  try  to 
buy  clothes." 

« Lissen ;  I  disremembered  dere  wuz  a  trunk 
in  de  garret  what  wuz  brung  down  from  de  Dev- 
rett  place  when  de  Yankees  tore  down  de  house 
an'  built  de  fort.  It  b'longed  ter  yer  cousin 
Frank's  wife's  brother,  an'  wuz  sent  home  atter 
de  war  broke  out  when  he  died  in  some  outland 
ish  place  —  I  dunno  whar,  in  heathen  land.  As 
I  knowed  he  wuz  tall  an'  spare,  I  'lowed  de  cloes 
mought  fit  dee.  So  I  opened  de  trunk  —  an'  de 


204  THE  STORM  CENTRE 

does  wuz  comical ;  but  not  as  comical  as  a  Rebel 
uniform  in  dese  days  an'  dis  place." 

Julius  had  a  vague  vision  of  himself,  robed  in 
the  comicalities  of  the  dress  of  the  Orient,  —  Jap 
anese  or  Arabian  or  Turkish, — seeking  an  escape 
in  obscurity  and  inconspicuousness,  through  the 
closely  drawn  Federal  lines. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Ephraim  !  "  he  whined,  almost  in 
tears,  because  of  the  futility  of  every  device, 
every  hope. 

"  You  wait  till  I  show  dem  ter  dee  ! "  exclaimed 
Uncle  Ephraim,  hustling  out  the  bundle  from 
under  his  coat. 

It  proved  to  be  a  small  portmanteau  that  had 
been  itself  enclosed  in  the  trunk.  This  much  was 
discernible  by  the  sense  of  touch.  Old  Ephraim 
placed  it  on  the  ground,  and  then,  lowering  his 
voice  mysteriously,  he  asked  solemnly,  "  Marse 
Julius,  is  you  sure  acquainted  with  dis  place  ?  " 

"I  certainly  am,"  declared  Julius,  the  tense 
vibration  of  triumph  in  his  voice.  "  I  know  it 
from  end  to  end  ! " 

"  Den,  ef  I  wuz  ter  strike  a  light,  could  dem 
sentries  see  hit  at  de  furder  e-end  ?  " 

"Not  to  save  their  souls.  We're  ever  so  far 
down,  and  the  tunnel  has  already  made  three 
turns." 

"  Ef  dey  wuz  ter  follow  us,  dey  couldn't  crope 
up  unbeknownst  on  us  ?  " 

"They'd  break  their  necks  at  the  entrance  if 
they  didn't  know  the  place  or  have  a  ladder." 


THE  STORM  CENTRE  205 

« Dere  is  a  ladder  ter  de  stable,  dough,"  the 
old  man  urged,  vaguely  uneasy. 

«  We'd  hear  'em  putting  it  down." 

"  Dat's  so  !  Dat's  so  !  "  cried  Uncle  Ephraim, 
all  cheerful  alacrity  once  more. 

He  forthwith  struck  a  match  and  lighted  one 
of  his  candle  ends,  which  he  fixed  on  the  ledge 
of  the  rock  by  holding  it  inverted  for  a  few 
minutes,  then  on  the  hot  drippings  placing  the 
taper  erect.  He  had  shielded  it  with  his  hand 
during  this  process,  and  on  perceiving  no  draught 
whatever,  looked  up  in  amazement  at  the  strange 
surroundings  —  a  rugged  stone  tunnel  stretching 
far  along  into  the  dense  blackness  of  the  distance, 
fifteen  feet  in  height,  perhaps,  and  of  varying 
width,  —  about  ten  feet  where  they  stood  ;  evi 
dently  this  was  an  offshoot  of  some  extensive 
subterranean  system,  not  uncommon  in  the  cav 
ernous  limestone  country,  therefore  exciting 
scant  interest,  and  perhaps  never  heretofore 
explored,  even  in  part,  save  by  Julius  and  the 
Devrett  boys  when  it  might  be  made  a  factor  in 
Christmas  fun. 

"De  La wd-a-massy," exclaimed  Uncle  Ephraim, 
looking  about  in  awe  and  by  no  means  prepos 
sessed  in  favor  of  the  aspect  of  the  place.  "  Is 
disher  de  bestibule  ob  hell  ?  " 

But  the  attention  of  Julius  was  concentrated 
on  the  portmanteau,  a  very  genteel-looking  recep 
tacle,  which  when  open  disclosed  the  garments 
that  Uncle  Ephraim  considered  so  comical.  They 


206  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

were,  indeed,  a  contrast  with  his  standard  of 
proper  attire  for  a  "  gemman  of  quality  "  — this  be 
ing  the  judge's  fine  black  broadcloth,  with  a  black 
satin  waistcoat  and  stock,  and  with  linen  laid 
in  plaits,  the  collar  standing  in  two  sharp  points. 
But  for  the  first  time  that  day  Julius  had  a  sud 
den  hope  of  deliverance.  No  kaftan,  kimono,  nor 
burnoose  as  he  had  feared,  but  he  was  turning  in 
his  hands  a  soft,  rough-surfaced  tweed  of  a  dark 
fawn  color,  with  tiny  checks  of  the  style  called 
invisible,  the  coat  bound  with  a  silk  braid  on 
which  Uncle  Ephraim  laid  a  finger  of  doubt  and 
inquiry,  looking  drearily  up  into  the  young  man's 
face.  For  this  was  a  novel  finish  indeed  in 
those  days. 

"These  are  of  English  make,"  said  the  dis 
cerning  Julius,  beginning  to  understand  that  the 
foreign  "  heathen  land "  to  which  old  Ephraim 
had  referred  was  England.  Julius  now  remem 
bered  that  his  cousin's  brother-in-law,  James 
Wrayburn,  had  been  sojourning  there  at  the 
time  of  his  death.  The  garments  had  lain  in 
the  garret  for  more  than  a  year,  but  in  those 
days  so  slow  was  the  transmission  of  styles 
across  the  Atlantic  that  the  cut  was  by  no 
means  antiquated,  indeed  was  in  accord  with 
the  fashion  that  was  familiar  on  the  main  street 
of  the  town.  There  was  a  hat  of  soft  felt  of  a 
deep  brown,  and  the  old  servant  had  added  from 
the  trunk  two  or  three  white  Marseilles  waist 
coats  and  some  neckties  and  linen. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  207 

"  Dee  got  on  good  new  boots,"  he  observed, 
glancing  down  at  the  young  man's  feet. 

"  Ought  to  be  —  cost  me  six  hundred  dollars  !  " 
said  Julius. 

«  Lo  !  —  my  Heabenly  Friend  !  "  exclaimed 
Uncle  Ephraim,  falling  back  aghast,  unaccus 
tomed  to  the  inflations  of  the  currency  of  the 
Confederacy. 

When  the  transformation  was  complete,  he 
looked  up  from  his  knees,  in  which  lowly 
posture  he  had  assisted  in  drawing  down  the 
trousers  over  the  boots,  and  smiled  broadly  in 
satisfaction. 

"  Dar  now  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  'Fore  de  Lawd, 
ye  look  plumb  beau-some  in  dem  comical  does. 
Dey  becomes  ye  !  Dat  they  does  —  dough  I 
ain't  never  see  no  such  color  as  they  got,  'dout 
'twuz  on  a  cow  !  " 

He  made  up  a  bundle  of  the  Confederate  uni 
form  and  stowed  it  away  on  one  of  the  ledges. 
"I  don't  want  dem  Yankees  ter  ever  git  no 
closer  ter  dis  yere  shed  snake-skin  dan  dey  is 
now." 

But  after  the  old  man  had  been  assisted  to 
clamber  out  of  "  the  vestibule  of  hell "  by  the 
stalwart  arm  of  his  young  master  and  had  dis 
appeared  among  the  firs,  Julius  made  up  the 
uniform  into  a  compact  bundle,  packed  it  into 
the  portmanteau,  and,  putting  out  the  candle, 
sat  down  in  the  obscurities  of  the  subterranean 
passage  to  await  the  enhanced  opportunity  for 


208  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

escape  that  the  dark  clouds,  now  gathering 
about  the  moon,  might  bring  to  the  fortuitous 
collocation  of  circumstance. 

When  the  sentries  next  heard  any  suggestion 
of  Uncle  Ephraim's  presence,  he  was  still  singing 
on  his  return,  —  now  and  then  humming  and 
whistling  as  he  came.  He  was  approaching  the 
house  from  the  driveway,  having  indeed  been  to 
the  river ;  he  was  bringing  home  a  goodly  mess 
of  fish. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AN  hour  later  there  was  a  more  significant 
landfall  than  the  fate  of  these  finny  trophies. 
Few  of  the  river  craft  kept  their  dates  of  arrival 
with  certainty,  and  this  was  especially  the  case 
with  the  general  packets.  Though  the  water  was 
high,  the  operations  of  the  Confederates  rendered 
the  passage  sometimes  unsafe,  sometimes  im 
practicable.  Now  and  again  the  Federal  authori 
ties  pressed  a  boat  into  government  service  for 
a  time  and  released  it  to  its  owners  and  its  old 
traffic  when  the  emergency  was  past.  Therefore 
on  this  dull  night,  when  no  sign  or  news  was 
received  of  the  Calypso,  overdue  some  ten  hours, 
the  wharf  became  deserted.  Hardly  a  light 
showed  on  the  river  banks  or  along  the  spread 
of  the  stream,  save  indistinct  gleams  in  the 
misty  gloom  where  the  picket  boats  kept  up  a 
ceaseless  vigilant  patrol.  The  gunboats,  with  a 
vaguely  saurian  suggestion  lay  with  their  noses  in 
the  mud.  Here  and  there  in  allotted  berths  were 
the  ordinary  steamboats  with  their  curiously 
flimsy  aspect,  as  if  constructed  of  white  card 
board,  silent,  disgorged,  asleep.  The  rafts,  the 
coal-barges,  the  humble  skiffs,  and  flatboats  were 
all  tied  up  for  the  night.  The  town  had  lapsed  to 

F  200 


210  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

silence  and  slumber  as  the  hour  waxed  late.  The 
great  pale  stream  seemed  as  vacant  as  the  great 
pale  sky. 

Suddenly  far  down  the  river  two  lights,  close 
together,  high  in  the  air,  red  and  green,  shim 
mering  through  the  mist,  struck  the  attention  of 
a  wanderer  along  the  high  bluffs  near  Judge 
Roscoe's  house,  even  before  a  hoarse,  remon 
strant,  outspreading  sound,  the  clamor  of  the 
whistle  three  times  repeated,  hailing  the  land 
ing,  invaded  the  murky  air.  It  was  a  spell 
to  rouse  all  the  precincts  of  the  river  bank. 
Lights  flickered  here  and  there.  Hack  drivers, 
who  had  given  up  the  expectation  of  the  boat's 
arrival  at  any  hour  that  would  admit  of  the 
transfer  of  the  passengers  to  the  hotel,  heard  the 
sound  from  afar,  harnessed  their  teams  in  haste, 
and  the  carriages  came  rattling  turbulently  down 
the  stony  declivity  to  the  wharf.  Baggage  vans, 
empty  and  curiously  noisy,  recklessly  jolted 
along,  careening  ill-poised  and  light  without 
their  wonted  burdens.  The  omnibuses,  with 
the  glow  of  their  dim  little  front  windows  to 
distinguish  their  approach,  were  soon  on  the 
scene  ;  the  driver  of  one  was  vociferating  with 
a  hackman,  because  of  the  lack  of  lighted  carriage 
lamps,  which  had  caused  a  collision  and  the 
wrenching  away  of  the  door  and  the  cover  of 
the  step  of  the  "  bus,"  swaying  open  for  want 
of  a  cautionary  pull  on  the  cord.  Loud  and 
turbulent  did  this  wrangle  grow,  and  presently 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  211 

it  was  punctuated  by  blows.  The  crowd  that 
the  mere  sound  of  a  fight  summons  from  invisi 
bility  was  almost  instantly  swaying  about  the 
scene  and  hindering  the  efforts  of  the  police, 
who  found  it  necessary  to  interfere,  and  while 
both  participants  were  arrested  and  hurried  off 
to  the  station  in  the  clutches  of  the  law,  they 
left  their  respective  vehicles  like  white  elephants 
in  the  hands  of  the  remainder  of  the  force,  two 
of  whom  must  needs  mount  the  boxes  to  restrain 
the  "  cattle,"  as  the  hack  driver  mournfully  called 
his  beasts  in  commending  them  to  police  protec 
tion.  The  horses  plunged  and  reared,  terrified 
at  the  apparition  of  the  Calypso,  now  manoeu 
vring  and  turning  in  the  river,  the  paddles  beating 
upon  the  water  with  a  splashing  impact  as  the 
side-wheels  slowly  revolved.  The  ripples  were  all 
aglow  with  the  reflection  of  her  red  furnace  fires, 
and  her  cabin  lights  sent  long  avenues  of  white 
evanescent  radiance  into  the  vague  riparian 
glooms.  The  jangle  of  the  pilot  bells  and  the 
sound  of  the  exhaust  pipes  came  alternately  on 
the  air.  And  presently  the  great  white  struc 
ture  was  motionless,  towering  up  into  the  gray 
uncertainties  of  the  night,  the  black  chimneys 
seeming  to  fairly  touch  the  clouds,  the  lacelike 
guards  filled  with  flitting  figures  all  in  wild  com 
motion  pressing  toward  the  stairway. 

Albeit  the  discharge  of  the  freight  would  not 
take  place  till  morning,  the  scene  was  one  of 
great  confusion.  In  accordance  with  the  regu- 


212  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

lation  which  the  military  occupation  of  the 
country  required,  the  passengers  rendered  up 
their  passes  on  deck  to  the  officer  who  had 
boarded  the  vessel  for  the  purpose  of  receiving 
them,  permitting  the  travellers  to  depart  one  by 
one  through  a  guarded  gate,  but  it  was  impossible 
to  identify  them  after  they  were  once  on  the 
wharf.  Hence  there  was  naught  to  distinguish 
from  the  other  passengers  a  gentleman  carrying 
a  portmanteau,  who  entered  an  omnibus,  save 
that  the  wharf  lamps  might  have  shown  that  he 
was  handsome,  taller  than  common,  with  a  fine 
presence  and  gait,  and  clad  in  garments  of  un 
mistakably  English  cut  and  make.  The  night 
clerk  of  the  hotel  evidently  saw  nothing  else 
unusual  in  the  stranger  as  he  stood  under  the 
gas-jet  to  register  at  the  desk  in  the  office,  al 
most  deserted  at  this  hour  —  not  even  in  the 
momentary  hesitation  when  he  had  the  pen  in 
hand.  He  wrote  "  John  Wray,  Junior,  Man 
chester,  England,"  had  a  room  assigned  to  him, 
and  passed  on  to  the  late  supper,  for  which 
Uncle  Ephraim's  negligence  had  prepared  him 
to  do  ample  justice. 

Julius  did  not  appear  next  morning  at  the 
usual  breakfast  hour.  The  terrors  of  the  Chi 
nese  gong,  that  was  wont  to  rouse  the  laggards 
as  it  howled  about  the  hotel  under  the  belabor- 
ings  of  a  stalwart  waiter,  failed  to  stimulate  his 
activity  or  break  his  slumber.  The  fatigues  and 
dangers  Julius  had  encountered  had  prostrated 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  213 

him.  He  was  unconsciously  recuperating,  gath 
ering  strength  for  the  rebound.  He  did  not  wake, 
indeed,  till  near  noon.  He  turned  once  or  twice 
luxuriously  in  the  comfortably  sheeted  bed  —  at 
his  home  they  had  not  dared  to  purloin  linen  from 
the  household  store  to  furnish  his  couch  in  the 
attic  —  and  then,  with  his  hands  clasped  under 
his  head,  he  lay  with  a  mind  almost  vacant  of  any 
conscious  process,  mechanically,  quietly,  taking 
in  the  details  of  the  place.  The  sun  sifted  in 
at  a  crevice  of  the  green  shutters  of  the  window 
that  opened  to  the  floor  and  gave  upon  a  wide 
gallery  without  —  now  and  again  he  heard  at 
considerable  intervals  the  passing  of  a  footstep 
on  this  gallery.  He  noticed  the  wind  stir  and 
the  flicker  of  the  shadow  of  foliage  on  the 
blinds.  The  room  was  in  the  second  story,  and 
he  knew  that  there  were  trees  in  a  space  at 
the  rear  of  the  old-fashioned  little  hotel.  The 
furniture  was  of  a  highly  varnished,  cleanly, 
straw-colored  aspect,  of  some  cheap  wood  that 
refreshingly  made  no  pretentious  to  be  aught 
but  what  it  was,  for  on  the  bureau  drawers, 
the  head  and  foot-boards  of  the  bed,  and  on 
the  rocking-chair  was  painted  a  gay  little  bou 
quet  of  flowers  in  natural  but  intense  tints.  A 
fresh  Chinese  matting  was  on  the  floor,  and 
muslin  curtains  hung  from  poles  supported  on 
pins  that  had  a  great  brass  rosette  or  boss  at 
the  extremity.  The  building  enclosed  a  quad 
rangle,  bounded  by  the  river  at  the  lower 


214  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

end.  On  each  of  the  other  three  sides  the 
wide  galleries  of  the  three-story  brick  edifice 
overlooked  the  grassy  space.  He  had  learned 
that  the  hotel  had  gone  into  the  hands  of  a 
new  proprietor,  but  even  were  it  otherwise 
he  hardly  feared  recognition,  although  he  had 
been  born  and  reared  in  the  immediate  vicinity. 
At  his  time  of  life  a  few  years  work  great 
changes.  The  boy  of  nineteen  was  hardly  to 
be  identified  in  the  man  of  twenty-two,  with 
his  mustached  lips,  his  broadened  shoulders,  his 
three  inches  of  added  height,  and  the  composure, 
confidence,  and  capability  conferred  by  those 
years  of  activity  and  emergency  and  responsi 
bility  working  at  high  pressure.  Some  old  resi 
dent  might  recognize  the  Roscoe  eye,  but  he  knew 
he  could  trust  the  kindly  associations  of  "auld  lang 
syne"  to  avoid  the  sifting  of  a  casual  recollec 
tion.  Besides,  this  was  hardly  likely  to  befall, 
for  the  town  was  an  ever  shifting  kaleidoscope 
of  confused  humanity.  It  was  full  of  strangers, 
—  Federal  officers,  on  service  and  unattached, 
on  leave  of  absence,  wounded,  and  their  fami 
lies  ;  special  correspondents ;  hospital  nurses ; 
emissaries  of  the  Sanitary  Commission ;  enter 
prising  promoters  of  all  manner  of  jobs,  and  the 
horde  of  nondescript  non-combatants  that  hangs 
on  the  rear  of  every  army,  seeking  the  many 
methods  of  securing  a  windfall  from  the  vast 
expenditures  of  money  and  goods  necessary  to 
maintain  a  great  force  on  a  war  footing.  He 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  215 

was  hardly  likely  to  meet  any  one  who  had  ever 
known  him,  or  even  his  father,  in  his  stay  at  the 
hotel,  which  he  must  contrive  by  some  method 
to  make  as  short  as  practicable.  Then  suddenly 
a  great  dismay  fell  upon  him.  He  lifted  his  head 
and  gasped  as  he  looked  about  him  for  something 
that  was  gone  !  His  treacherous  memory  !  —  in 
the  prostration  of  his  mental  faculties  by  ex 
citement  and  fatigue,  in  the  lull  of  his  long 
slumber,  he  had  forgotten  the  alias  he  had  regis 
tered  as  his  own  name  on  his  entrance  to  the 
hotel.  He  thought  of  half  a  dozen  of  the  most 
usual  nomenclature,  striving  to  goad  his  mind 
to  a  recognition  of  each  in  turn  as  the  one  he 
had  selected.  He  was  in  desperation.  True, 
he  might  have  an  opportunity  to  study  the  regis 
ter  and  could  recognize  his  own  handwriting. 
But  something  —  anything  might  occur  in  the 
interval  in  which  it  might  be  necessary  to  give 
the  name  he  had  assumed,  and  any  incongruity 
with  the  registered  alias  would  be  fatal.  Every 
casual  step  along  the  hall  on  one  side,  or  the 
gallery  on  the  other,  threw  him  into  a  sudden 
tremor  as  he  prefigured  a  stoppage,  a  knock,  an 
inquiry  —  "Are  you  Mr.  Alfred  Jones?  —  here's 
a  note  for  you.  Messenger  waits  for  an  answer." 
"And  /don't  know  whether  to  answer  as  Mr. 
Jones  or  not !  "  he  said  to  himself  in  a  panic.  He 
might  turn  away  a  note  of  warning  from  his 
father,  who  possibly  had  recognized  his  hand 
writing  on  the  register,  of  greeting  from  Leonora 


216  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

in  whose  face  he  had  seen  an  appalled  com 
miseration  as  he  sped  past  her  yesterday  in 
his  father's  hall ;  or  it  might  be  that  some  Con 
federate  agent  within  the  lines  would  hear  of 
his  plight  and  contrive  this  way  to  communi 
cate  with  him.  No  matter  how  cautiously 
worded,  his  was  not  a  correspondence  at  this 
juncture  to  decline  to  receive,  and  to  turn  lightly 
over  to  the  investigating  scrutiny  of  all  the 
A.  Joneses  to  whom  it  might  be  presented.  On 
the  other  hand  he  might  « throw  all  the  fat  in 
the  fire,"  should  he  meddle  with  the  large  cor 
respondence  of  the  Jones  family  by  opening 
sealed  missives  bearing  their  name,  obviously 
not  intended  for  him,  if  he  had  registered  as 
Abner  Smith. 

Julius  was  about  to  spring  up,  throw  on  his 
clothes,  and  rush  to  the  register,  when  the 
name  struck  him  with  the  force  of  convic 
tion.  John  Wray  —  That  was  it !  Manchester, 
England!  The  address  had  been  selected  to 
take  advantage  of  the  typically  English  clothes. 
He  meditated  upon  it  as  he  sat  upright  in  bed. 
He  had  added  the  "  Junior,"  for  the  sake  of  verisi 
militude.  He  smiled  with  satisfaction  to  have 
regained  it.  Then — "I  must  have  something 
to  fix  that  in  my  memory,"  he  said. 

He  looked  fruitlessly  about.  He  had  no  paper, 
save  the  map  in  the  lining  of  his  boot,  no  pencil, 
no  pen  and  ink,  naught  for  a  memorandum. 
Then  with  his  gay  youthful  inconsequence  — 


THE  STORM  CENTRE  217 

"Constant  repetition  will  settle  it — Mr.  John 
Wray  —  Mr.  John  Wray ;  Mr.  John  Wray.  How 
do  you  do  to-day?" 

He  threw  himself  back  on  his  pillow,  laughing 
at  the  unintentional  rhyme. 

"  I'm  a  poet  —  if  I  did  but  know  it ! " 

His  irrepressible  youthful  mirth  found  its 
account  in  the  most  untoward  trifles. 

"  There  it  is  again !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  I 
have  destroyed  the  sequence  of  my  ideas.  I  am 
just  as  likely  now  to  say,  <  I  am  Mr.  Poet '  —  or 
perhaps  with  the  notion  that  I  have  got  to  butt 
out  of  this  somehow  —  <  I  am  Mr.  Goat ! '  " 

He  laughed  again,  yawned  lazily,  stretched  his 
arms  upward,  and  fell  back  luxuriously  on  the 
bed,  resting  his  tired  muscles. 

He  lay  staring  at  the  design  of  the  wall-paper, 
which  was  in  scrolls  of  brown  that,  as  they 
whorled  over  clear  enamelled  spaces  of  creamy 
white,  enclosed  an  outline  in  fainter  browns  and 
yellow,  —  a  scene  of  waves  breaking  on  rocks 
and  surmounted  by  a  lighthouse ;  a  far  and 
foreign  suggestion  to  this  deeply  inland  nook,  and 
refreshing,  for  there  was  more  than  vernal  warmth 
in  the  air.  And  presently,  still  repeating  —  "  Mr. 
John  Wray,  how  do  you  do  to-day  ?  "  he  slipped 
off  into  a  half-conscious  doze  from  which  he  was 
roused  only  by  a  knock  at  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XII 

DOWNSTAIRS  in  the  hotel  there  had  been  the 
usual  stir  of  the  morning.  Till  a  late  hour  the 
punkahs  had  swung  back  and  forth  above  the  long 
tables  in  the  dining  room,  each  furnished  with 
one  of  those  primitive  contrivances  for  the  ban 
ishment  of  flies.  The  swaying  of  the  pendent 
fringes  of  paper  rivalled  the  rustling  of  the  trees 
in  the  quadrangle  outside,  on  which  the  broad, 
long  windows  looked,  as  each  punkah-cord  was 
pulled  by  a  specimen  of  the  cheerful  and  alert 
pickaninny  of  that  day,  keenly  interested  in  all 
that  occurred.  Others  ran  in  and  out  of  the 
kitchen,  bearing  to  the  waiters,  to  be  dispensed 
among  the  guests,  interminable  relays  of  the 
waffles  of  those  times,  golden  brown,  delicately 
rich,  soft,  yet  crisp,  of  a  peculiar  lightness,  —  a 
kind  that  will  be  seen  no  more,  despite  the 
food  inventions  and  dietetic  improvements,  for 
the  artists  of  that  choice  cookery  are  all  dead  and 
their  receipts  only  serve  to  mark  the  decadence 
of  proficiency. 

Strangers  of  all  sorts,  officers  of  the  army, 
civilians  from  every  quarter  of  the  north,  filled 
the  public  apartments,  aimlessly  chatting,  dis 
cussing  the  news  from  the  front,  smoking  matu- 

218 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  219 

tinal  cigars,  buying  papers  from  the  omnipresent 
newsboys,  or  reading  them  in  the  big  arm-chairs 
within  or  on  the  benches  under  the  trees  in 
the  quadrangle,  glimpsed  in  attractive  verdure 
through  the  open  doors  of  the  office.  There 
was  continual  passing  through  the  halls,  and 
groups  filled  the  verandas  and  stood  about  on  the 
sidewalk  in  front  of  the  hotel,  for  the  great  brick 
pillars  that  supported  the  roof  of  the  arcade  at 
the  height  of  the  third  story  were  anchored  at 
the  curb  of  the  pavement,  and  this  colonnade 
illustrated  the  forgotten  architect's  idea  of  im- 
pressiveness. 

In  the  gay  sunshine,  the  streets,  with  sub 
stantial  two  and  three  storied  buildings  on 
either  side,  with  much  effect  of  big  airy  windows 
and  now  and  again  a  high,  iron-railed  balcony, 
were  congested  with  traffic.  The  pavements  were 
crowded  with  pedestrians  of  varying  aspect,  — 
freedmen  in  rags,  idle,  exhaustlessly  zealous  of 
sensation,  grotesquely  slouching  along,  eying  the 
shop  windows,  seeing  all  that  there  was  to  be 
seen ;  soldiers  in  uniform  on  furlough ;  citizens 
of  a  new  migration,  having  almost  superseded 
the  old  townsmen,  so  limited  were  the  latter 
in  number  in  comparison  with  the  present  popu 
lation  of  the  gorged  town;  ladies,  many  the 
wives  and  daughters  of  Federal  officers,  with  an 
unfamiliar  accent  and  walk,  and  with  toilettes 
of  a  more  recent  style  than  characterized  the 
native  exponents  of  fashion.  Now  and  again 


220  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

some  passing  body  of  troops  filled  the  avenue, 
— cavalry,  with  guidon  and  trumpet,  or  a  jaunty 
progress  of  infantry,  to  the  fife  and  drum  and 
the  tune  of  "  The  girl  I  left  behind  me ! " 

At  this  period  the  war  had  focussed  a  sort  of 
superficial  prosperity  here.  The  counters  were 
covered  with  Northern  goods  to  supply  the  needs 
and  excite  the  extravagance  of  this  medley  of 
congregated  humanity.  Street  venders  howled 
their  wares  in  raucous  voices  that  added  to  the 
unintelligible  clamors  of  the  old  highways  that 
were  wont  to  be  so  dull  and  quiet  and  decorous. 

The  paving  stones  roared  with  the  reverbera 
tion  of  wheels.  Sometimes  endless  trains  of 
white-hooded  army  wagons  defiled  by;  again  heavy 
open  transfers  ;  sometimes  an  ambulance  anguish- 
laden  passed  slowly,  taking  the  crown  of  the 
causeway.  Occasionally  a  light-wheeled  buggy 
whisked  about  with  the  unmistakable  effect  of 
display  and  with  a  military  charioteer  handling 
the  ribbons,  who  found  the  Tennessee  blooded 
roadsters  much  to  his  mind.  And  forever  the 
dray,  laden  with  cotton  bales  sometimes,  and 
sometimes  with  boxes,  or  barrels,  or  hogsheads, 
took  its  drag-tailed  way  to  the  depots  or  to  the 
wharf.  All  was  dominated  by  the  presence  of 
the  mule  —  in  force,  driven  loose  in  hundreds 
through  the  town  to  some  remote  scene  of  use 
fulness,  now  drawing  the  great  transfers  and 
drays,  now  giving  an  exhibition  of  the  peculiar 
pertinacity  of  mule  nature  by  planted  hoofs  and 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  221 

ears  laid  back  and  a  resolution  of  immovable- 
ness,  bringing  the  whole  tumultuous  noisy  rout 
to  a  blockade  of  such  intricacy  and  cumbrous 
obstructiveness  that  one  might  wonder  by  what 
magic  the  interlocked  wheels,  the  twisted  har 
ness,  the  crowded  beasts,  the  whistling,  long- 
thonged  whips  and  shouting,  swearing  men  were 
ever  disentangled. 

These  incidents  impeded  progress,  and  the 
passengers  from  the  noon  railroad  train  were 
disposed  to  complain  and  comment,  and  seemed 
fit  subjects  for  sympathy,  as  they  interchanged 
petulant  accounts  of  experiences  at  the  hotel 
desk,  waiting  to  register.  One  was  appar 
ently  not  unknown  to  the  clerk  now  in  charge, 
an  affable  functionary  to  the  deserving  few, 
altogether  stiff  and  unapproachable  to  the  gen 
eral  public.  He  was  the  day  clerk,  and  a  far 
more  magnificent  individual  than  the  forlorn 
night  bird  that  languished  behind  the  desk  with 
no  company  but  the  wee  sma'  hours  of  the  clock, 
and  the  somnolent  bell-boys  on  their  bench,  and 
the  watchman,  walking  hither  and  thither  like 
a  ghost  as  if  his  only  mission  were  to  be  about, 
and  the  incoming  traveller.  The  day  clerk's 
courtesy  had  the  grace  of  a  personal  compli 
ment  as  he  hurried  the  book  away  from  the 
last  signer  and  passed  it  on  to  another  in  the 
line,  —  a  somewhat  portly,  red-faced,  middle-aged 
gentleman,  with  short  side-whiskers,  of  the  hair 
brush  effect  and  a  pale  hue,  not  definitely  gray, 


222  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

for  he  seemed  hardly  old  enough  for  such  tokens 
of  years,  and  yet  the  flaxen  tint  had  lost  its 
earlier  lustre.  His  hair  was  of  the  same  shade, 
and  he  wore  a  stiff  hat,  a  suit  of  "pepper-and- 
salt,"  and  a  dark  overcoat  of  light  weight. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Wray,"  said  the  clerk, 
handing  him  the  pen.  "  I  am  sorry  I  can't  give 
you  a  room  to  yourself,  but  I  can  put  you  a 
bed  in  your  son's  room." 

The  pen  was  poised  uncertainly  —  the  gentle 
man  with  the  side-whiskers  stared. 

"Your  son  got  in  last  night,"  explained  the  clerk. 

The  gentleman  still  silently  stared.  He  had 
a  close,  compact  mouth,  a  cautious  mouth,  and 
the  lips  were  now  compressed  with  an  expres 
sion  of  waiting  incommunicativeness.  He  evi 
dently  had  not  expected  to  be  confronted  with 
a  ready-made  family. 

The  clerk  surprised  in  turn  cast  on  him  a 
glance  of  keen  intentness.  In  these  strenuous 
times  every  stranger  in  the  town  was  liable  to 
suspicion  as  a  Confederate  emissary.  "  I  was 
not  on  duty,  myself,  but  I  thought  I  saw  —  ah 
—  here  it  is,"  turning  the  page  of  the  register, 
"  John  Wray,  Junior,  Manchester,  England." 

For  one  moment  the  portly  gentleman  gazed 
at  the  signature  as  if  dumfounded.  Then  with 
an  air  of  ready  recognition  he  justified  his  previ 
ous  manifestations  of  extreme  surprise  by  ex 
plaining  the  mistake  of  the  clerk  as  to  the  matter 
of  identity. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  223 

"  Oh,  aw,  a  distant  relative,"  he  said,  at  last. 
"  Ah,  aw,  —  he  is  the  son  of  a  cousin  of  the 
same  name  as  mine,  <  John  Wray.'  The  younger 
man  is  to  be  associated  with  me  in  business. 
What  room  ?  Number  ninety  ?  " 

And  as  he  was  assigned  to  that  haven  he  took 
the  pen  and  wrote,  "  John  Wray,  Manchester, 
England." 

Thus  it  was  that,  awakened  by  the  brisk 
tap  at  the  door,  Julius,  leaning  out  of  bed, 
turned  the  key,  and  reached  out  for  the  pitcher 
of  ice  water  for  which,  being  warm  and  thirsty, 
he  had  a  drowsy  impression  that  he  had  rung 
the  bell.  Perceiving  his  mistake,  and  lifting 
himself  on  his  elbow,  Julius  beheld  entering 
this  blond  and  robust  stranger,  an  inexplicable 
apparition,  too  solid  for  a  spectre,  too  prosaic 
for  a  fancy. 

The  visitor  stood,  when  the  door  had  closed, 
gazing  silently  down  at  the  recumbent  figure, 
while  Julius,  amazed  at  the  form  which  his 
Nemesis  had  taken,  gazed  up  silently  and  lugu 
briously  at  the  intruder. 

All  the  methods  of  Mr.  John  Wray  were  in 
conformity  ^with  his  portly  rotundity,  his  slow 
respectability,  his  unimaginative  commercial 
ism. 

The  young  man  found  speech  first.  "  Why 
this  unexpected  pleasure?"  he  asked  ceremoni 
ously,  but  with  a  satiric  inflection. 

"  Sorry  to  intrude,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  elder. 


224  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"  But  my  name  is  John  Wray  of  Manchester, 
England." 

The  skies  had  fallen  on  Julius.  He  strove  to 
recover  himself. 

"  And  do  you  like  it  ?  "  he  asked  vacuously. 

"  You  seemed  to  like  it  well  enough  to  re 
gister  it." 

"  With  a  <  Junior,'  if  you  please." 

The  other  fixed  him  with  a  stare  of  round 
blue  eyes.  « I  think  I  understand  you,  sir." 

"  Very  possibly,"  said  poor  Julius.  "  I  am 
not  very  deep." 

He  was  thinking  that  this  was  doubtless  a 
military  detective,  a  very  usual  factor  for  fer 
reting  out  schemes,  obnoxious  to  the  Federal 
government  and  in  aid  of  the  Confederacy.  He 
determined  to  hold  hard  and  sell  his  life  dear. 

"  Have  you  any  letters  or  papers  —  any  written 
communication  for  me  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  Julius  ventured. 

"  You  knew  you  would  meet  me  here  ?  "  the 
older  man  apparently  wished  to  say  as  little  as 
he  might. 

"  I  fancied  I  should  meet  you,  but  not  in  this 
manner,"  said  Julius,  also  enigmatical. 

The  portly  gentleman  looked  painfully  non 
plussed  and  ill  at  ease,  as  he  sat  in  the  light 
little  yellow  rocking-chair,  which  now  and 
again  treacherously  tilted  backward  and  caused 
him  a  momentary  but  agitated  effort  at  equi 
librium,  and  Julius  vaguely  remembered  to  have 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  225 

heard  that  rocking-chairs  were  not  popular  in 
England,  and  reflected  that  this  worthy  was  not 
accustomed  to  have  his  centre  of  gravity  so 
jeopardized. 

"  I  think  I  should  have  had  ampler  voucher. 
You  will  pardon  me  for  saying  this  ?  "  remarked 
the  stranger,  at  length. 

"  I  will  pardon  you  for  saying  anything  you 
like,"  said  Julius,  politely. 

"  The  Company  informed  me  that  a  young  man 
familiar  with  the  country  —  a  native,  in  fact  — 
would  meet  me  here  and  that  I  should  be 
afforded  means  to  identify  him.  I  fancied  he 
would  have  letters.  But  when  I  saw  the  register 
I  supposed  this  the  mark  of  identification.  Am 
I  right  ?  " 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  must  not  expect  me  to 
guarantee  your  impressions,"  said  Julius.  He 
was  glad  he  was  in  bed.  He  felt  that  he  could 
not  have  stood  up.  "  I  should  say.  judging  from 
the  effect  your  valuable  mental  qualities  make 
upon  me,  that  any  impression  you  see  fit  to 
entertain  would  be  amply  justified  by  the 
fact." 

He  did  not  know  how  to  appraise  the  dis 
tinction  of  his  own  manner  and  special  attrac 
tiveness,  and  he  was  both  amazed  and  amused 
to  note  how  Mr.  John  Wray  of  Manchester, 
England,  expanded  under  the  compliment. 

"  I  see,  I  see  —  I  suppose  this  is  even  better 
than  a  letter,  which  might  have  been  stolen,  or 


226  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

transferred,  or  —  however,  or  —  shall  we  pro 
ceed  to  our  commercial  affairs?" 

"  I  don't  usually  transact  commercial  affairs 
in  my  night-shirt,"  said  Julius,  "  but  if  I  look 
sufficiently  businesslike  to  suit  you  —  just  fire 
away  ;  it's  all  the  same  to  me." 

He  was  growing  reckless.  The  risk  involved 
in  this  war  of  words  with  the  supposed  detec 
tive  was  overwhelming  his  reserves.  He  did  not 
know  certainly  of  what  the  man  suspected  him, 
how  fully  informed  he  might  have  become.  He 
knew  it  was  imprudent  to  suggest  his  with 
drawal,  for  the  effort  at  escape  might  precipi 
tate  immediate  arrest.  Yet  he  could  no  longer 
spar  back  and  forth. 

"  However,"  he  said,  as  if  with  a  second 
thought,  "  I  should  like  a  dabble  of  a  bath,  first, 
and  to  get  on  my  duds,  and  to  have  a  whack  at 
breakfast,  or  dinner,  —  whichever  is  on  parade 
by  this  time." 

"  Certainly  —  certainly  —  by  all  means.  I 
will  meet  you  in  the  hotel  office,  and  shall  we 
dine  together  at  two  ? "  He  held  out  the  dial 
of  his  watch. 

"  At  two,"  assented  Julius. 

His  friend  was  in  such  polite  haste  to  be 
gone  that  he  shuffled  and  plunged  awkwardly 
on  his  gaitered  feet,  fairly  stumbling  over  his 
portmanteau  near  the  door  as  he  opened  it; 
then  he  went  down  the  hall  with  a  brisk,  elastic 
step.  Julius  lay  dumfounded,  staring  at  the 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  227 

portmanteau,  which  was  of  an  English  make  and 
bore  the  letters,  J.  Wray,  Manchester,  England,  on 
one  side.  He  rose  and  turned  it  about.  It  had 
not  been  hastily  arranged  to  mislead  him.  The 
lettering  had  been  done  long  ago.  The  recep 
tacle  was  evidently  travel-worn,  and  stamped 
deep  in  the  bottom  was  the  makers'  name, 
trunk  manufacturers,  Manchester,  England. 

Julius  dressed  in  haste,  his  heart  once  more 
agitated  with  the  hope  of  deliverance.  He  could 
hardly  control  his  nerves,  his  eager  desire  that 
this  might  prove  merely  an  odd  coincidence, 
instead  of  a  detective's  deep-laid  scheme.  It 
began  to  seem  that  the  man's  name  might  be 
really  John  Wray  of  Manchester,  England,  some 
army  jobber,  or  speculator,  perhaps  —  the 
country  was  full  of  them.  He  said  he  had  ex 
pected  to  meet  an  "  agent  of  the  company,"  who 
knew  the  country. 

"  /  know  the  country,"  said  Julius,  capably  ; 
"  I  know  the  country  to  a  t-y  ty.  I  can  give 
him  all  the  information  he  wants,  free,  gratis, 
and  for  nothing." 

Yet  in  naught,  he  resolved,  would  he  betray 
himself.  This  mistake,  on  the  contrary,  might 
open  to  him  some  means  of  getting  through  the 
lines  and  back  to  his  command  with  this  map  — 
this  precious  plan  of  the  defences  of  the  place 
that  would  be  of  distinct  value  to  the  cause  of 
the  Confederacy. 

He  therefore    cast    aside   his   half-formulated 


228  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

scheme  of  seeking  escape  from  the  supposed  de 
tective  through  the  street.  He  had  remembered 
that  there  were  stairs  on  the  galleries,  leading 
from  one  floor  to  another,  and  thence  to  the 
quadrangle,  as  well  as  the  great  main  staircase 
from  the  hallways  into  the  office.  He  at  last 
took  his  way,  however,  down  this  main  stair 
case,  with  its  blatant  publicity,  and  its  shift 
ing  groups  of  Federal  officers  and  busy,  newly 
imported  civilians.  He  recognized  the  wis 
dom  of  his  boldness  almost  immediately.  Mr. 
John  Wray  of  Manchester,  England,  standing 
conferring  amicably  with  a  cluster  of  worthies 
of  that  marked  commercial  aspect,  alertness,  and 
vim  of  expression,  which  imply  the  successful 
business  man  of  the  heady,  venturesome  type, 
since  known  as  "plungers,"  turned  and  per 
ceived  him,  and  catching  his  eye  beckoned  to  him 
with  great  empressement. 

"  Allow  me,  gentlemen,  to  introduce  Mr.  John 
Wray,  Junior  —  the  son  of  my  cousin,  John 
Wray,"  he  said. 

There  ensued  the  usual  greetings,  the  usual 
stir  of  hand-shaking,  and  if  any  eye  in  the  office 
had  chanced  to  note  the  newcomer  with  the 
faint  suggestion  of  doubt  or  interest  or  suspicion, 
which  a  stranger  is  apt  to  excite,  it  evaporated  at 
once,  for  the  elder  Mr.  Wray  was  well  known  in 
the  hotel  and  the  town,  having  been  here  often 
before,  and  was  a  very  sufficient  voucher  for  any 
kinsman. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  229 

Genial  indeed  this  group  proved  at  dinner, 
seated  on  either  side  of  the  upper  portion  of  one 
of  the  long  tables.  Julius  found  it  accorded  with 
his  subsidiary  character  as  youthful  kinsman  of 
one  of  the  chief  spokesmen  to  maintain  an  intel 
ligent  and  receptive  silence.  Once  or  twice 
one  of  the  more  jovial  of  his  newly  acquired 
cousin's  confreres  gave  him  a  glance  and  lifted  his 
wine-glass  with  a  nod,  as  who  should  say,  "  To 
you,  sir,"  in  the  midst  of  the  general  discourse. 

This  was  eagerly  commercial,  for  the  most 
part,  and  piecing  the  details  together  as  he  plied 
his  knife  and  fork,  Julius  learned  that  his  new 
friend  was  interested  in  a  flourishing  American 
concern  which  had  large  government  contracts 
for  ready-made  army  clothing,  the  woollen  cloth 
and  other  textile  fabrics  being  supplied  from 
Manchester,  and  was  indeed  one  of  the  English 
agents.  He  could  not  reconcile  anything  that  he 
heard  with  a  requisite  for  caution  or  for  any  ser 
vice  which  he  could  perform,  necessitating  secrecy 
or  an  alias,  or  his  sudden  and  affectionate  adop 
tion  as  a  kinsman. 

"  It  is  a  trait  of  piety  to  trust  in  Providence," 
Julius  reflected  in  this  quiescent  state.  «  But  I 
doubt  if  my  confiding  reliance  in  this  fix  can  be 
set  down  to  my  credit.  For  the  Lord  knows 
there's  nothing  else  to  do  !  " 

He  created  the  impression  of  a  decorous,  well- 
bred  youth,  and  in  the  fashionable  English  clothes 
he  looked  little  less  British,  than  the  elder  John 


230  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

Wray.  There  was  so  much  good-fellowship  that 
it  was  natural  that  the  postprandial  cigars  with 
a  decanter  and  glasses  should  be  taken  out  to  a 
summer-house  in  the  quadrangle,  where  at  one 
extremity  the  river  had  a  slant  of  the  westering 
sun  on  its  surface.  The  hills  of  the  distance 
were  of  a  dull  grapelike  blue  against  an  intensely 
turquoise  sky;  the  magnolia  trees  above  their 
heads  already  bore  fine  cream-white  blossoms 
among  the  densely  green  and  glossy  foliage,  and 
the  surrounding  town  was  cut  off  from  sight  and 
sound  by  the  three  encompassing  sides  of  the 
hotel.  Yet  it  was  not  a  solitary  place.  No  one 
looking  at  the  group  could  imagine  it  had  been 
chosen  for  seclusion.  From  the  galleries  of  each 
of  the  three  stories  a  glance  could  command  it. 
Guests  were  continually  sauntering  into  and  out 
of  the  office.  Here  and  there  a  Federal  offi 
cer  strolled  along  the  little  esplanade  above  the 
water-side.  On  the  lower  veranda  two  elderly 
men — one  a  chaplain — were  playing  very  slowly 
and  with  great  circumspection  a  game  of  chess. 
There  were  onlookers  here,  with  whom  time 
seemed  no  object,  calmly  studying  the  moves, 
solaced  by  a  meditative  cigar,  and  at  long  inter 
vals  showing  a  nicker  of  excitement  at  the  magic 
word,  «  Check  !  " 

The  summer-house  had  already  a  thatch  of 
vines,  but  bare  columns  upheld  the  roof,  and  it 
occupied  a  little  circular  space  of  gravel,  whence 
a  broad  gravel  walk  ran  toward  each  point  of 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  231 

the  compass.  An  approach  could  be  instantly 
observed,  a  step  instantly  heard,  arid  therefore 
it  did  not  seem  to  Julius  altogether  incongruous 
that  business  of  importance  and  details  of  secrecy 
should  presently  be  broached.  The  table  in  the 
centre  was  all  at  once  covered  with  papers, 
and  he  began  to  understand  the  mysteries  that 
had  hitherto  baffled  him  when  gradually  the 
details  of  a  very  bold  and  extensive  blockade- 
running  scheme  were  unfolded. 

This  was  in  defiance,  of  course,  of  the  Federal 
regulations,  and  in  so  far  militated  against  no 
interest  of  the  government  that  Julius  had  sworn 
to  serve.  But  it  was  a  private  enterprise  for 
personal  profit,  and  whether  the  export  of  cotton 
from  the  country  to  England  at  this  juncture 
accorded  with  the  policy  of  the  Confederate 
States  he  had  no  means  of  knowing.  At  one 
time,  he  was  aware,  there  existed  an  impression 
that  the  official  withholding  of  such  shipments 
as  could  be  effected  by  running  the  blockade 
tended  to  create  such  paucity  of  the  staple  in  the 
English  market  as  might  influence  the  already 
pronounced  disposition  of  the  British  to  interfere 
in  aid  of  the  Confederacy,  and  bringing  the  war 
to  an  end  remove  this  restriction  of  manufactures 
and  trade.  All  this  was  beyond  his  province. 
He  held  very  still,  remained  keenly  observant, 
watching  for  the  loophole  that  might  enable  him 
to  quit  these  tortuous  ways  for  the  very  simple 
matter  of  fighting  the  battles  of  his  section.  After 


232  THE   STOEM   CENTRE 

these  various  turmoils  of  doubt,  and  hope,  and 
despair,  it  would  be  a  mere  trifle  to  charge  with 
his  company  to  the  muzzles  of  the  biggest  howit 
zers  that  ever  bellowed. 

He  discovered  that  these  men  were  in  corre 
spondence  with  secret  agents  in  the  Confederacy; 
they  spoke  of  various  depots  of  the  cotton  which 
presently  developed  as  mere  caches  —  bales 
hidden  in  swamps,  to  be  brought  out  only  by  such 
craft  as  could  navigate  bayous,  or  in  deserted 
gin-houses  on  abandoned  plantations,  or  in  old 
tumble-down  warehouses  on  the  outskirts  of 
towns,  —  never  much  at  any  one  point,  but  all 
that  could  be  found  and  bought,  and  concealed 
and  held,  to  be  gotten  away  at  last  to  a  foreign 
market.  The  system  sought  to  reach  to  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico,  to  gather  up  the  scattered  wayside 
stores,  and  either  by  taking  advantage  of  some 
lapse  of  Federal  vigilance,  or  else  by  strategy, 
to  run  the  blockade  with  a  ship-load,  and  aw^ay 
for  England  !  Thus  the  enterprise  was  contrary 
to  the  policy  of  both  factions.  The  Company's 
gold  would  recruit  the  endurance  of  the  South, 
and  yet  he  knew  that  the  Confederate  authorities 
had  put  the  torch  to  thousands  of  bales  rather 
than  let  the  cotton  fall  into  their  enemy's  hands 
—  the  precious  commodity,  then  selling  at  amaz 
ing  prices  in  the  markets  of  New  York. 

Suddenly  his  own  personality  came  into  the 
scheme  with  an  abruptness  that  made  his  head 
whirl. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  233 

«  How  is  it,"  demanded  a  sharp-featured  man, 
who  had  sparse  sandy  hair,  very  straight,  very 
thin,  the  head  almost  bald  on  top  extending  the 
effect  of  the  forehead,  watery-blue  eyes  that 
nevertheless  made  out  very  accurately  the  sur 
rounding  country,  metaphorically  considered,  a 
somewhat  wrinkled  face  albeit  he  was  not  old  — 
"  how  is  it  that  your  cousin  should  be  so  well 
acquainted  with  the  country  ?  I  take  it  that  he 
is  an  Englishman,  too  !  " 

"  Why,  no,  he  is  not,"  candidly  answered 
Mr.  John  Wray,  and  Julius  had  an  instinct  to 
clutch  at  him  from  across  the  table  to  hinder  the 
divulging  of  the  imposture,  "  and,  in  fact,  he  is 
not  my  kinsman  at  all.  I  should  be  extremely 
glad  if  he  were,"  and  he  smiled  suavely  across 
the  table  at  Julius.  "  He  is,  I  understand,  a  na 
tive  of  this  region."  And  forthwith  he  told  the 
story  of  the  register. 

The  spare,  businesslike  man,  whose  name  was 
Burrage,  at  once  laid  his  cigar  down  on  the  table 
with  its  ash  carefully  disposed  over  the  edge. 

«  And  did  he  bring  no  letters  ?  " 

"  None  ;  very  properly.  It  is  most  unwise  to 
multiply  papers  in  the  hands  of  outside  parties." 

"  But  he  should  have  had  something  definite." 

"  I  think  the  registry  of  the  name  very 
definite."  Mr.  John  Wray  reddened  slightly.  He 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  being  called  in  question 
for  precipitancy. 

"  It  strikes  me  as  a  most  fantastic  whim  on  the 


234  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

part  of  the  Company.  You  might  not  have  in 
terpreted  it  correctly  —  taken  as  you  were  by 
surprise,"  Mr.  Burrage  rejoined.  Then,  "Did 
you  have  any  specific  instructions  to  guide  you 
personally?"  The  querist  turned  full  on  the 
young  man,  much  to  Mr.  John  Wray's  disap 
proval.  But  Julius  answered  easily :  — 

"  None  at  all.  It  is  my  business  to  hold  my 
self  subject  to  orders." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  queried  Mr.  Burrage. 

"At  present  —  John  Wray,  very  much  at  your 
service,"  Julius  replied  glibly ;  then  with  a 
sudden  recollection  of  the  vicissitudes  of  "  Mr. 
Poet "  and  « Mr.  Goat,"  he  burst  into  his 
irresistible  laugh,  that  cleared  the  frown  from 
the  brow  of  the  actual  Mr.  John  Wray  and  his 
colleagues,  and  caused  the  officers  pacing  along 
the  esplanade,  their  shadows  long  now  in  the 
sun,  to  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  sym 
pathetic  with  the  unknown  jest. 

Mr.  Burrage  pressed  the  matter  no  farther,  but 
as  he  took  up  his  cigar  again,  filliping  off  the 
ash  with  a  delicate  gesture,  and  placed  it  between 
his  teeth  once  more,  no  physiognomist  would 
have  been  required  to  discern  in  his  resolute 
facial  expression  a  firm  determination  to  have 
full  advices  on  this  subject  before  he  should  ever 
lose  sight  of  the  very  prepossessing  young  man 
introduced  by  Mr.  John  Wray. 

"He  goes  out  with  the  little  steamboat  down 
the  river.  I  think  a  packet  leaves  to-morrow." 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  235 

Mr.  Wray  began  to  explain  the  simplicity  of  the 
duties  devolving  upon  Julius  in  order  to  demon 
strate  his  own  perspicacity  and  regard  for 
precaution.  "  At  her  stoppages  he  visits  the 
plantations  on  his  list,  notifies  the  men  in 
charge  of  the  cotton  to  get  it  out  on  the  rafts 
and  flatboats  and  to  be  ready  to  float  down  — 
there's  a  full  sufficiency  of  water  on  the  shoals 
now  —  to  where  the  steamer  we  have  chartered, 
bought,  in  fact,  can  pick  it  up.  Then  he  returns 
on  the  next  packet.  It  is  a  trip  of  a  hundred 
miles  or  so." 

Julius  felt  his  heart  beat  tumultuously  in  the 
prospect  of  escape  —  to  be  out  of  the  town  once 
more !  But  to-morrow !  what  in  the  interval 
might  betide  ! 

« The  point  is  to  have  our  own  steamboat 
clear  fairly  with  the  upper-country  consignment. 
The  rest  she  picks  up  as  she  goes.  She  is  known 
as  a  packet  to  the  river  pickets;  they  won't 
be  aware  she  has  changed  her  trade  till  she 
has  gone.  But  meantime  to  get  the  cotton  col 
lected  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  man  familiar 
with  the  country.  On  the  way  down  or  the 
return  trip,  in  the  distracted  state  of  the  region, 
politically,  and  its  physical  aspect  as  a  nearly 
unexplored  wilderness,  it  would  be  simply  im 
possible  for  a  stranger  to  cope  with  any  disasters 
or  difficulties,  if  one  could  be  found  to  under 
take  the  trip." 

Julius   was   astonished   at   himself   when   he 


236  THE   STOKM   CENTRE 

heard  his  own  voice  blandly  suggest  —  "  Come 
with  me,  Mr.  Barrage !  You  would  enjoy  the 
trip  —  beautiful  scenery  J  I  should  have  the 
benefit  of  your  long  experience  in  matters  of 
business,  and  you  could  avail  yourself  of  my 
knowledge  of  the  country  and  the  people  — 
the  methods  and  the  manners." 

He  was  in  admiration  of  his  own  astuteness. 
His  intuition  had  captured  the  emergency.  He 
had  perceived  in  Mr.  Burrage's  face  unmistak 
able  indications  that  he  would  play  the  obstruc 
tive.  He  would  detain  the  supposed  agent  here, 
and  would  not  intrust  him  with  the  necessary 
instructions  in  this  difficult  and  most  compro 
mising  business,  until  the  fullest  advices  could 
be  had  from  the  distant  promoters  of  the  enter 
prise,  who  were  presumed  to  have  sent  hither 
"  John  Wray,  Junior." 

The  suggestion  of  Julius  met  with  instan 
taneous  favor  among  the  group,  except,  indeed, 
that  Mr.  Burrage  himself  looked  disconcerted, 
surprised,  definitely  at  a  loss.  It  removed  all 
possible  objections  to  the  employment  of  this 
agent  with  no  other  credentials  than  the  name 
on  the  register  —  but  at  this  moment  Mr.  Bur- 
rage  thought  that  perhaps  the  coincidence  would 
have  struck  him  with  more  force  had  the  name 
been  his  own  and  the  registry  anticipated  his 
arrival.  Time  was  of  importance.  No  one 
more  than  the  experienced  man  of  business 
realizes  the  Protean  capacity  for  change  apper- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  237 

taining  to  that  combination  ot  cause  and  effect 
called  opportunity.  What  is  possible  to-day 
may  be  relegated  to  the  regions  of  everlasting 
regret  to-morrow.  Everything  was  favorable  at 
the  moment,  feasible.  The  future  stood  with 
the  boon  of  success  in  an  outstretched  hand. 
Delay  was  hardly  to  be  contemplated.  The 
proposition  that  Mr.  Burrage  should  accompany 
the  agent  of  his  own  company  on  a  tour  of  im 
portant  negotiation,  and  at  no  sacrifice  of  per 
sonal  ease,  was  at  once  so  reasonable  and  so 
indicative  of  the  fairest  intentions  that  he  was 
ashamed  of  the  cautionary  doubt  he  had  enter 
tained.  All  at  once  the  journey  seemed  too 
much  trouble.  The  matter  had  already  been 
adjusted,  he  said.  The  plan  might  well  stand 
as  Mr.  Wray  had  arranged  it. 

But  Mr.  Wray,  too,  added  his  insistence. 
"  Nothing  could  be  better,"  he  declared. 

And  as  Mr.  Burrage  demurred,  and  half  apolo 
gized,  and  was  distinctly  out  of  countenance, 
Mr.  Wray  compassionately  overlooked  all  his 
disquieting  cautions  and  protested  with  cor 
diality  that  the  change  would  be  an  advantage. 
Some  difficulty  might  arise,  some  reluctance  to 
deliver  the  cotton  they  had  already  purchased, 
some  doubt  as  to  the  locality  where  it  was 
stored,  —  they  used  this  expression  rather  than 
"  hidden,"  though  Julius  apprehended  that  its 
cache  was  now  a  cane-brake  and  now  a  rock 
house  or  cave,  and  now  a  tongue  of  dry  land  in 


238  THE  STORM   CENTRE 

a  network  of  bayous  and  swamps,  —  some  fail 
ure  of  facilities  in  respect  to  men  or  water 
carriage  or  land  transportation,  with  all  of 
which  this  young  gentleman,  new  to  the  arrange 
ments  and  the  enterprise,  might  find  it  difficult 
to  cope  successfully.  Such  unforeseen  obstacles 
might  require  a  divergence  from  the  original 
plan  and  the  agent's  instructions.  But  Mr.  Bur- 
rage,  a  member  of  the  Company,  could  meet  and 
provide  for  all  these  emergencies,  and  yet  with 
such  a  guide  be  as  assured  and  as  confident  of 
his  footing  in  this  strange  country  as  if  he  him 
self  were  a  native.  It  was  the  happiest  sug 
gestion  !  It  enabled  him  to  make  a  long  arm, 
as  it  were,  and  manipulate  the  matter  in  effect 
without  a  proxy. 

"  And  meantime  it  will  be  strange  indeed  if  I 
cannot  make  a  long  leg ! "  thought  Julius,  tri 
umphantly. 

The  actual  Mr.  Wray  was  treated  everywhere 
with  all  possible  consideration  and  due  regard 
to  the  fact  that  he  was  a  British  subject.  The 
neutrality  of  Great  Britain  was  considered  ex 
ceedingly  precarious,  and  there  was  no  disposition 
to  twist  the  tail  of  the  Lion,  albeit  this  appendage 
was  whisked  about  in  a  way  that  ever  and  anon 
provoked  that  catastrophe.  The  British  Lion 
was  supposed  in  some  quarters  to  be  solicitous 
of  a  grievance  which  would  justify  a  roar  of 
exceeding  wrath.  In  this  instance,  however, 
there  was  no  necessity  of  withholding  the  favor 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  239 

asked  by  a  British  subject,  Mr.  John  Wray,  — 
for  a  pass  for  his  cousin,  Mr.  John  Wray,  Junior, 
of  Manchester,  England,  and  his  friend,  Mr. 
Alfred  Burrage. 

That  night  the  two  slept  on  the  crowded 
steamer,  as  she  was  to  cast  off  at  a  very 
early  hour.  Long,  long  did  Julius  lie  awake  in 
his  berth  in  the  tiny  stateroom  peculiar  to  the 
architecture  of  the  "stern-wheeler."  The  good 
Mr.  Burrage  in  the  berth  below  snored  in  sat 
isfaction  with  the  events  of  the  day,  untroubled 
as  to  the  morrow.  Julius  had  been  so  tormented 
by  vacillations,  by  the  untoward  "  about-face " 
movements  of  the  probable,  so  hampered  by 
the  unexpected,  so  repeatedly  disappointed,  that 
even  now  he  could  not  believe  in  his  good  for 
tune.  Something,  somehow,  would  snatch  the 
cup  from  his  lips.  But  in  the  midst  of  his  tur 
moil  of  emotion  he  had  a  distinct  sense  of  grati 
tude  that  the  preservation  of  his  safety  had 
involved  no  forwarding  of  equivocal  interests. 
The  affairs  of  the  Company  were  doubtless  such 
as  many  were  seeking  to  prosecute  with  vary 
ing  chances  of  success.  He  would  report  the 
scheme  to  his  commanding  officer,  however,  and 
he  could  forecast  the  reply,  "  One  of  hundreds." 
But,  at  all  events,  the  map  in  his  boot-lining 
was  a  matter  of  no  slight  import.  He  could 
hardly  wait  to  spread  it  on  a  drumhead  before 
his  Colonel's  eyes,  and  solicit  the  honor  of  lead 
ing  the  enterprise  he  had  planned. 


240  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

But  was  he,  indeed,  destined  to  escape,  to  come 
off  scatheless  from  this  heady  venture ! 

"  If  ever  I  see  the  command  again,  by  thunder, 
I'll  stick  to  them  as  long  as  I  live.  If  ever  I 
can  lay  hold  of  my  sword  again,  I  swear  my 
right  hand  shall  never  be  far  from  its  hilt ! " 

In  the  early  hours  of  the  night  the  loading 
of  the  cargo  was  still  unfinished.  The  calls  of 
the  deck-hands,  the  vociferations  of  the  mate, 
which  were  of  an  intensity,  a  fervor,  a  mad  strenu- 
ousness,  that  might  seem  never  heard  before  out 
of  Bedlam,  the  clash  and  commotion  of  boxes 
and  barrels,  the  lowing  of  cattle  and  bleating  of 
sheep,  for  the  lower  deck  was  given  over  to  the 
transportation  of  army  supplies,  sounded  errati 
cally,  now  louder,  now  moderated,  dying  away 
and  again  rising  in  agitated  vibrations.  Some 
times,  as  he  lay,  a  great  flare  of  light  illumined 
the  tiny  apartment  as  the  torches,  carried  by  the 
roustabouts  on  shore,  cast  eerie  vistas  into  the 
darkness,  and  he  could  see  the  closely  fitted  white 
planking  of  the  ceiling  just  above  his  head,  the 
white  coverlet,  and  through  the  glass  door,  that 
served  too  as  window,  the  railing  of  the  guards 
without  and  the  dim  glimpse  of  the  first  street 
of  the  town  —  River  Avenue  —  about  on  a  level 
with  his  eye,  so  deep  was  the  declivity  to  the 
wharf. 

Quiet  came  gradually.  The  grating  and  shift 
ing  of  the  cargo  ceased  first ;  the  boat  was  fully 
loaded  at  length.  Then  the  voices  became  sub- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  241 

dued,  —  once  a  snatch  of  song,  and  again  a  burst 
of  laughing  banter  between  the  roustabouts  going 
up  into  the  town  and  the  deck-hands  about  to 
turn  in  on  the  boat.  Now  it  was  so  quiet  that 
he  could  distinguish  the  flow  of  the  current. 
Yet  he  could  not  sleep.  Once  he  seemed  near  uncon 
sciousness  when  he  heard  the  clash  of  iron  as  the 
stoker  was  banking  the  fires,  for  steam  was  up. 
Then  Julius  lay  in  unbroken  silence,  till  an  owl 
hooted  from  out  the  Roscoe  woods  down  the 
river.  There  was  home !  He  thought  of  his 
father  with  so  filial  a  tenderness  that  the  mere 
recollection  might  be  accounted  a  prayer.  In 
that  dense  mass  of  foliage  off  toward  the  west, 
under  the  stars  and  the  moon,  stood  the  silent 
house,  invisible  at  the  distance,  but  every  slant 
of  the  roof,  every  contour  of  the  chimneys,  every 
window  and  door,  —  nay,  every  moulding  of  the 
cornice,  was  as  present  to  his  contemplation  as 
if  he  beheld  it  in  floods  of  matutinal  sunshine. 
"  Oh,  bless  it !  "  he  breathed.  "  Bless  it,  and  all 
it  holds ! » 

With  dreary  melancholy  he  fell  to  gazing  out 
at  the  real  instead,  —  at  the  vague  slant  to  the 
wharf  in  the  flickering  moonlight,  and  the  dim 
warning  glow  of  a  lantern  on  an  obstructive 
pile  of  brick  on  the  crest  of  River  Avenue. 
Somehow  the  trivial  thing  had  a  spell  to  hold 
his  eyes,  as  he  watched  it  with  a  mournful,  dull 
apprehension  of  what  might  betide,  for  he  feared 
to  hope  still  to  escape  —  so  often  had  this  hope 


242  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

allured  and  disappointed  him.  Would  something 
happen  at  the  last  moment  —  and  what  would 
the  next  disaster  be  ? 

Therefore  when  he  suddenly  became  sensible 
that  the  boat  was  moving  swiftly,  strongly,  in 
midcurrent  under  a  full  head  of  steam,  he  felt  a 
great  revulsion  of  emotion.  Floods  of  sunshine 
suffused  the  guards  and,  shining  through  the  glass 
section  of  the  door,  sent  a  wakening  beam  into 
his  face.  A  glance  without  apprised  him  that 
while  he  slept  the  town  was  left  far  behind,  the 
fort,  the  camps,  the  pickets,  all  the  features  of 
grim-visaged  war,  and  now  great  forest  masses 
pressed  down  to  the  craggy  banks  on  either  side. 
The  moment  of  deliverance  was  near,  —  it  was 
at  hand,  —  and  as  he  dressed  in  the  extreme  of 
haste,  he  listened  expectantly  for  the  whistle  of 
the  boat,  for  it  was  approaching  a  little  town  on 
the  opposite  side  where  a  landing  was  always 
made.  Julius  hardly  feared  the  entrance  of  any 
passenger  who  might  recognize  him,  but  he  took 
his  way  into  the  saloon  arid  asked  for  break 
fast,  in  order  that  thus  employed  he  might  have 
time  to  reconnoitre.  The  boat,  however,  barely 
touched  the  wharf,  and  when  he  emerged  and 
joined  Mr.  Burrage  on  the  deck  there  was  some 
thing  so  breezily  triumphant  in  his  manner 
that  the  observant  elder  man  looked  askance 
at  him  with  a  conscious  lack  of  comprehension. 
He  thought  he  was  evidently  mistaken  if  he 
had  imagined  he  had  gauged  this  youth.  His 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  243 

breeding  was  far  above  his  humble  and  subsidi 
ary  employment,  and  his  manner  singularly  well 
poised  and  assured.  There  was  a  hint  of  dignity, 
of  command,  in  his  pose  and  the  glance  of  his 
eye.  He  was  perfectly  courteous;  he  did  not 
forget  to  apologize  for  a  lapse  of  attention,  albeit 
absorbed  in  a  certain  undercurrent  of  excitement. 
He  did  not  hear  what  Mr.  Burrage  had  said  of 
the  news  from  the  front  in  the  morning  paper, 
and  upon  its  repetition  accepted  the  proffered 
sheet  with  thanks  and  threw  himself  into  a 
chair  beside  his  elderly  fellow-passenger.  He  had 
hardly  read  ten  words  before  he  lifted  his  head 
with  a  certain  alert  expectancy,  like  the  head  of 
a  listening  deer.  The  whistle  of  the  boat  had 
sounded  again,  the  hoarse,  discordant  howl  com 
mon  to  river  steamers,  an  acoustic  infliction 
even  at  a  distance,  and  truly  lamentable  close  at 
hand,  but  it  was  not  this  that  had  caught  his 
attention.  The  boat  was  turning  in  midstream 
and  heading  for  the  shore,  now  backing  at  the 
signal  of  her  pilot's  bells,  peremptorily  jangling, 
now  going  forward  with  a  jerk,  and  again  swing 
ing  slowly  around,  and  at  last  slipping  forward 
easily  toward  the  wood-yard  where  great  piles  of 
ready-cut  fuel  awaited  her. 

An  alien  sound  had  also  caught  Mr.  Burrage's 
attention. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  he  demanded  of  the  captain 
of  the  steamboat,  who  held  a  field-glass  and  was 
looking  eagerly  toward  the  woods. 


244  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"  Musketry,"  replied  the  captain,  succinctly. 

"There  is  some  engagement  taking  place  in 
the  forest  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Burrage. 

"  Seems  so,"  said  the  captain. 

"  And  are  you  —  are  you  going  to  land  ?  " 

"  Must  have  wood  —  that's  my  regular  depot," 
returned  the  steamboatman. 

"You  had  best  return  to  Roanoke  City 
instead,"  urged  Mr.  Burrage,  aghast. 

"  Need  wood  for  that !  " 

"  But  the  boat  will  be  captured  by  the  Rebels. 
Why  don't  you  burn  the  freight  ?  " 

"Beeves  ain't  convenient  for  fuel  on  the 
hoof." 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  the  captain  can  wood  and  get 
off,"  said  Julius,  good-naturedly,  reassuring  Mr. 
Burrage.  "  Nobody  is  thinking  about  this  boat 
now."  Then,  as  a  sharper  volley  smote  the  air, 
he  added,  "  I  think  I'll  look  into  this  a  bit,"  rose 
and  took  his  way  through  the  groups  of  excited 
passengers  and  down  to  the  lower  deck. 

The  "  mud  clerk,"  the  roustabouts,  the  wood- 
yard  contingent,  made  quick  work  of  fuelling  the 
steamer,  and  she  was  once  more  in  midstream, 
forging  ahead  at  high  speed,  before  it  occurred 
to  Mr.  Burrage  to  compare  notes  with  his  young 
colleague  and  ascertain  if  he  had  learned  aught 
of  what  forces  were  engaged. 

He  was  not  easily  found,  and  Mr.  Burrage 
asked  the  captain  of  his  whereabouts. 

"  He  must  have  got  left  by  the  boat,"  said  the 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  245 

captain,  as  if  the  packet  were  a  sentient  thing 
and  subject  to  whims. 

Mr.  Barrage,  gravely  disturbed,  caused  in 
quiry  to  be  circulated  among  the  hands  and 
officials,  —  all,  in  effect,  who  had  set  foot  on 
terra  forma. 

"Who?  that  young  dandy  with  the  long  hair?" 
said  the  "mud  clerk,"  staring,  his  measuring  staff 
still  in  his  hand.  "Why,  that  man  intended  to 
land.  He  had  his  portmanteau  and  walked  off 
along  the  road  as  unconcerned  as  if  he  was  going 
home.  I  was  too  busy  measuring  the  wood  to 
pass  the  time  of  day,  thinking  the  riverbank  was 
alive  with  guerillas." 

His  departure  remained  a  mystery  to  Mr.  Bur- 
rage.  As  to  the  topographical  features  of  his 
involved  scheme  he  was  powerless  to  prosecute 
this  phase  alone.  The  simple  expedient  of  stick 
ing  to  the  packet  and  retracing  his  way  on  her 
return  trip  brought  him  at  last  to  a  consultation 
with  his  confreres^  who  also  long  pondered  fruit 
lessly  on  the  strange  meeting  and  its  result. 
About  this  time  the  agent  or  guide,  provided  by 
the  Company,  presented  himself  with  due  cre 
dentials  from  the  main  office,  —  a  heavy,  dull, 
somewhat  sullen  man,  with  no  further  capacity, 
or  will,  indeed,  than  a  lenient  interpretation  of 
his  duty  might  require. 

"  I  always  shall  think,"  Mr.  Wray  used  to  say, 
"  that  we  suffered  a  great  loss  in  that  young  man 
—  that  John  Wray,  Junior." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

IN  these  days  the  picket  lines  were  seldom 
stationary ;  one  or  the  other  faction  continually 
drew  in  close  these  outlying  guards,  as  if  by  pre 
sentiment,  —  an  unexplained  monition  of  caution, 
or  perhaps  because  of  some  vague  rumor  of 
danger.  Now  and  again,  by  a  sudden  belligerent 
impulse,  they  were  impetuously  attacked  and 
driven  in ;  but  apparently  in  pursuance  of  no 
definite  plan  of  aggression  emanating  from  the 
main  body.  A  few  days  of  surly  silence  and 
stillness  would  ensue,  and  then  the  opposing 
force  would  return  the  warlike  compliment  with 
interest,  holding  the  enemy's  ground  and  kind 
ling  bivouac  fires  from  the  embers  they  had  left. 
It  seemed  a  sort  of  game  of  tag  —  a  grim  game ; 
for  the  loss  of  life  in  these  futile  manoeuvres 
amounted  to  far  more  in  the  long  run  than  the 
few  casualties  in  each  skirmish  might  indicate. 
Sometimes  these  feints  were  entirely  relinquished, 
and  intervals  of  absolute  inaction  continued  so 
long  that  it  might  seem  a  matter  of  doubt  why 
the  two  lines  were  there  at  all,  with  so  vague 
a  similitude  of  war.  Occasionally  they  lay  so 
near  that  the  individual  soldiers,  forgetful  of 
sectional  enmity,  gave  rein  to  mere  human  inter- 

246 


THE  STORM   CENTRE  247 

est  in  the  opportunities  afforded  by  a  common 
tongue  and  an  apprehended  and  familiar  range  of 
feeling.  A  lot  of  tobacco,  thrown  into  a  group 
about  a  bivouac  fire  by  an  unseen  hand  one 
night,  brought  the  next  night  a  package  of  "  hard 
tack  "  from  over  the  way.  Now  and  again  long- 
range  conversations  were  held,  full  of  kindly 
curiosity,  or  humorously  abusive,  the  question 
able  wit  of  which  mightily  rejoiced  the  heart  of 
the  lonely  sentinel,  and  upon  his  relief  all  the 
jokes  were  duly  rehearsed  when  once  more  in 
camp,  he  himself,  of  course,  represented  as  com 
ing  off  winner  in  the  wordy  war,  being  able  to 
appropriate  all  the  good  things  said  by  the 
enemy.  The  loud,  cheerful,  "Say,  air  you  the 
galoot  ez  wuz  swapping  lies  with  Ben  Smith  day 
'fore  yestiddy?  "  and  the  response,  "  Smith,  Smith, 
you  say.  I  dis-remember  the  name.  I  guess  I 
never  heard  it  afore ! "  all  were  much  more  com 
mendable  from  a  merely  humanitarian  point  of 
view  than  the  singing  of  the  minie  ball  or  the 
hissing  shriek  of  a  shell  that  had  been  wont  to 
intrude  on  the  bland  quietude  of  the  sweet 
spring  air. 

Thus  it  was  that  Miss  Mildred  Fisher,  accom 
panied  by  Lieutenant  Seymour  and  one  of  her 
father's  ancient  friends,  Colonel  Monette,  himself 
attended  by  a  very  smart  orderly,  riding  out 
of  Roanoke  City  down  the  long  turnpike  road, 
saw  naught  that  might  indicate  active  hostilities. 
The  picturesque  tents  in  the  distance  about  the 


248  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

town,  the  outline  of  the  forts  against  the  blue 
sky,  and  afar  off  a  gunboat  in  the  river,  were  all 
still,  all  silent,  all  as  suave  as  the  painted  inci 
dent  of  a  picture  on  the  wall.  The  turnpike 
itself  bore  heavy  tokens  of  the  war  in  the  deeply 
worn  holes  and  wheel  tracks  of  the  great  wagon 
and  artillery  trains,  wrought  during  the  wet 
weather  of  the  winter.  It  was  hard  going  on 
the  horses,  and  precluded  that  brisk  pace  and 
easy  motion  which  are  essential  to  the  pleas 
ure  of  the  equestrian.  Mildred  Fisher,  indeed, 
delighted  in  a  breakneck  speed,  and  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  it  was  altogether  a  happy  ani 
mal  which  had  the  honor  of  bearing  her  light 
weight.  As  they  reached  a  "  cut  off,"  where  a 
"  dirt  road  "  had  been  recently  repaired  and  put 
into  fine  condition  to  obviate  the  obstacles  of  the 
main  travelled  way,  Miss  Fisher  proposed  that 
they  should  "let  the  horses  out"  along  this 
detour  for  a  bit.  Then  she  challenged  the  two 
officers  for  a  race. 

They  could  but  accede,  and  indeed  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  deny  her  aught.  The  elder 
looked  at  her  with  an  almost  paternal  pride,  the 
other  with  a  sort  of  surly  adoration,  tempered 
by  many  a  grievance  and  many  a  realized  imper 
fection  in  his  idol,  and  a  spirit  of  revolt  against 
the  sunny  whims  and  again  the  cold  caprice 
which  he  and  others  sustained  at  her  hands.  Sey 
mour  had  little  to  complain  of  just  now  ;  yet, 
if  she  smiled  on  him  and  his  heart  warmed  to 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  249 

the  sunshine  of  her  eyes,  the  next  moment  he 
was  saying  to  himself  that  it  meant  nothing,  it 
was  not  for  his  sake ;  for  she  was  smiling  with 
the  same  degree  of  brightness  on  that  whisker- 
ando,  the  elderly  colonel.  Her  face  was  exqui 
sitely  fair,  and  in  horseback  exercise — the  luxury 
she  loved  —  she  tolerated  no  veil  to  protect  the 
perfection  of  her  complexion.  Her  fluffy  red 
hair  had  a  sheen  rather  like  gold,  because  of  the 
contrast  with  her  damson-tinted  cloth  riding- 
habit.  The  hat  was  of  the  low-crowned  style 
then  worn  with  a  feather,  and  this  was  a  long 
ostrich  plume  of  the  same  damson  tint,  curling 
down  over  her  hair,  and  shading  to  a  lighter 
purple.  Her  hazel  eyes  were  full  of  joy  like 
a  child's.  Her  mouth  was  not  closed  for  a 
moment,  —  its  red  lips  emitting  disconnected  ex 
clamations,  laughter,  gay  banter,  and  sometimes 
just  held  apart,  silently  taking  the  swift  rush  of 
the  air,  showing  the  rows  of  even  white  teeth 
and  a  glimpse  of  the  deeper  red  of  the  interior, 
like  the  heart  of  a  crimson  flower. 

She  tore  along  like  the  wind  itself.  "  Mad 
cap,"  who  had  raced  before,  and,  sooth  to  say, 
with  more  numerous  spectators,  had  thrust  his 
head  forward,  striking  out  a  long  stride,  and  the 
soft,  elastic,  dirt  road  fairly  flew  beneath  his 
compact  hoofs.  The  skirt  of  the  riding-habit  — 
much  longer  than  in  the  later  fashions  —  floated 
out  in  the  breeze  of  the  flight,  and  Colonel 
Monette,  who  did  not  really  approve  outdoor 


250  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

sports  for  women,  expected  momently  to  see  it 
catch  in  a  thorn  tree  of  the  thickets  that  lined 
the  road,  or  on  some  stake  of  the  fragments 
of  a  ridered  rail  fence,  and  tear  her  from  the 
saddle.  Then,  her  foot  being  held  by  the  stirrup 
perhaps,  she  might  be  dragged  by  Madcap  or 
brained  by  one  blow  of  the  ironshod  hoofs. 
Thus  his  heart  was  in  his  mouth,  and  he  was 
eminently  appreciative  of  the  folly  of  the  elderly 
wight  who  seeks  to  share  the  pleasures  of  the 
young. 

The  lieutenant,  being  young  himself,  was  not 
so  cautiously  and  altruistically  apprehensive.  He 
admired  Miss  Fisher's  dash  and  courage  and 
buoyant  spirit  of  enjoyment,  and,  having  a  good 
horse,  he  pressed  Madcap  to  his  best  devoir. 
Colonel  Monette,  to  keep  them  in  sight  at  all, 
was  compelled  to  make  very  good  speed,  and 
went  galloping  and  plunging  down  the  road  in 
a  wild  and  reckless  manner. 

It  was  the  elder  officer  who  was  first  visited 
by  compunctions  in  behalf  of  the  horses. 

"Halt!"  he  cried.  "Halt!  Miss  Fisher  is 
the  winner  —  as  she  always  is  !  Halt !  Lieu 
tenant  Seymour!"  Then  in  a  lower  voice 
when  he  could  be  heard  to  speak,  "We  shall 
have  the  horses  badly  blown,"  he  said  with  an 
admonitory  cadence,  which  reminded  Seymour 
that  a  military  man's  whole  duty  does  not  con 
sist  in  scampering  after  a  harum-scarum  girl  in  a 
race  with  two  wild  young  horses. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  251 

Seeing  that  she  was  not  followed,  Miss  Fisher 
reined  in  after  several  wild  plunges  from  Mad. 
cap,  who  felt  that  he  had  not  had  his  run  half 
out,  and  snorted  with  much  surprise  in  his  full 
bright  eyes  as,  turning  in  the  road,  he  saw  the 
two  mounted  officers  far  behind,  stationary  and 
waiting.  The  victor  should  never  be  unduly 
elated,  but  Madcap  expressed  his  glee  of  triumph 
chiefly  in  his  heels,  curvetting  and  prancing, 
presently  kicking  up  so  uncontrollably,  the  excite 
ment  of  the  contest,  the  joy  of  racing,  still  surg 
ing  in  his  veins  and  tense  in  his  muscles,  that 
the  officers  might  well  have  feared  some  disaster 
to  the  girl.  They  at  once  put  their  steeds  in 
motion  to  go  to  her  assistance,  but  Madcap, 
with  outstretched  head,  viewing  their  start, 
suddenly  made  a  bounding  volte-face  in  the  road, 
and  with  the  bit  between  his  teeth  set  out  at 
a  pace  that  discounted  his  former  efforts  and 
carried  him  out  of  sight  in  a  few  minutes. 

Miss  Fisher,  with  all  the  courage  of  the  red 
headed  Fisher  family,  albeit  she  had  become  pale 
and  breathless,  settled  herself  firmly  in  the 
saddle,  held  the  reins  in  close,  now  and  then 
essaying  a  sharp  jerk,  first  with  the  right  then 
quickly  with  the  left  hand  —  and  it  was  as 
much  as  she  could  do  to  keep  the  saddle  at 
these  moments  —  to  displace  the  grasp  of  his 
teeth  on  the  bit.  For  a  time  these  manoeuvres 
failed,  but  at  last  the  road  became  rougher, 
brambles  appeared  in  its  midst,  the  intention  of 


252  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

repair  had  evidently  ceased,  and  running  at  full 
tilt  was  no  longer  any  great  fun.  The  horse 
voluntarily  slowed  his  pace,  and  the  sudden 
jerk  right  and  left  snatched  the  bit  from  his 
teeth.  He  might  still  have  pranced  and  cur 
vetted,  for  the  spirit  of  speed  was  not  satiated, 
but  his  foot  slipped  on  the  uneven  gullied 
ground,  he  stumbled,  and  being  a  town  horse 
and  seeing  nowhere  any  promise  of  a  good  road, 
he  resigned  himself  to  the  guidance  of  his  rider, 
thinking  perhaps  she  knew  more  of  the  country 
than  he. 

While  she  breathed  him  for  a  time,  she 
looked  about  her  along  the  curves  of  the  road, 
seeing  nothing  of  her  companions,  and  realizing 
that  she  was  quite  alone.  This  gave  her  a 
sentiment  of  uneasiness  for  a  moment ;  then  she 
reflected  that  her  friends  were  doubtless  riding 
forward  to  overtake  her.  She  drew  up  the 
reins,  intending  to  turn,  and,  retracing  her  way, 
to  meet  them. 

The  place  was  all  unfamiliar.  So  swift  had 
been  her  transit  that  she  had  not  had  a  mo 
ment's  contemplation  of  the  surroundings.  She 
stood  at  the  summit  of  a  gentle  slope  and  could 
look  off  toward  stretches  of  forest,  here  and 
there  interspersed  with  considerable  acreage  of 
cleared  ground,  evidently  formerly  farm  land, 
now  abandoned  in  the  stress  of  war  and  the 
presence  of  contending  armies.  The  correctness 
of  this  conclusion  was  confirmed  by  the  sight  of 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  253 

two  gaunt  chimneys  at  no  great  distance,  be 
tween  which  lay  a  mass  of  charred  timbers,  — 
once  the  dwelling,  now  burned  to  the  ground. 
The  scene  was  an  epitome  of  desolation,  despite 
the  sunshine,  which  indeed  here  was  but  a 
lonely  splendor;  despite  the  brilliance  of  the 
trumpet  vine,  tangled  in  remnants  of  the  fence, 
in  many  a  bush,  and  swaying  in  long  lengths, 
its  scarlet  bugles  flaring,  from  the  boughs  of  over 
shadowing  trees  ;  despite  the  appeal  of  the  elder 
blossoms  of  creamy,  lacelike  delicacy,  catching  her 
eye  in  the  thickets,  which  were  so  lush,  so  green, 
so  favored  by  the  rich  earth  and  the  prodigal 
season.  She  was  sensible  of  a  clutch  of  dread 
on  that  merry  spirit  of  hers  before  she  heard 
a  sound  —  a  significant  sound  that  stilled  the 
pulsations  of  her  heart  and  sent  her  blood  cold. 
It  was  the  unmistakable  sinister  sibilance  of  a 
shell.  She  saw  the  tiny  white  puff  rise  up 
above  the  forest,  skim  through  the  air,  drop 
among  the  thickets,  and  then  she  heard  the 
detonation  of  an  explosion.  Before  she  could 
draw  her  breath  there  came  a  sudden  volley  of 
musketry  at  a  distance,  —  she  knew  that  for  the 
demonstration  of  regular  soldiers,  firing  at  the 
word,  —  then  ensued  another,  and  again  only  a 
patter  of  dropping  shots.  She  wondered  that 
her  companions  did  not  overtake  her  —  she 
must  find  them  —  she  must  rejoin  them, — 
when  suddenly  an  object  started  up  from  the 
side  of  the  road,  the  sight  of  which  palsied  her 


254  THE  STORM   CENTRE 

every  muscle.  A  man  it  was  who  had  lain  in 
the  bushes  on  the  hillside,  a  man  so  covered 
with  blood  that  he  had  lost  every  semblance  of 
humanity.  The  blood  still  came  in  a  steady 
stream  from  his  mouth,  impelled  in  jets,  as  if  it 
were  under  the  impulse  of  a  pump,  and  he  held 
his  hand  to  his  stomach,  whence  too  there  came 
blood,  dripping  down  from  his  ringers.  In 
sickened,  aghast  dismay  she  watched  his  ap 
proach,  and  as  he  passed  she  found  her  voice 
and  called  to  him  to  stop,  —  might  she  not 
help  him  stanch  his  wounds  ?  His  staring  eyes 
gazed  vacantly  forward  with  no  recognition  of 
the  meaning  of  her  words,  and  he  walked  deliri 
ously  on,  every  step  sending  the  blood  forward, 
draining  the  vital  currents  to  exhaustion.  Now 
she  dared  not  turn,  she  could  not  pass  that 
hideous  apparition.  She  shuddered  and  trem 
bled  and  rode  irresolutely  forward,  just  to  be 
moving  —  hardly  with  a  realized  intention. 
Suddenly  the  road  curved,  and  the  scene  of  the 
conflict  was  before  her. 

The  woods  were  dense  on  three  sides  of  a  wide 
stretch  of  fields  that  were  springing  green  with 
new  verdure ;  a  portion  had  even  been  ploughed 
and  bedded  up  for  cotton ;  here  and  there  lay 
strange  objects  in  curious  attitudes,  which  she 
did  not  at  once  recognize  as  slain  men.  Among 
them  were  scattered  carbines,  horses  already  dead, 
and  more  than  one  in  scrambling  agonies  of  dying. 
In  the  farthest  vista  field-guns  were  evidently 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  255 

getting  in  battery,  ready  to  sweep  from  the 
earth  a  little  force  of  dismounted  cavalrymen 
who  had  come  to  close  quarters  with  infantry 
and  who  were  fighting  on  foot  with  carbines. 
The  minie*  balls  now  and  then  sang  sharply  in  the 
air,  and  in  the  excitement  she  did  not  realize  the 
danger.  Suddenly  a  puff  of  smoke  rose  from 
the  battery,  the  shell  winging  its  way  high  above 
the  infantry  line  and  at  last  falling  among  the  dis 
mounted  cavalrymen,  who,  perceiving  the  situa 
tion  to  be  hopeless,  wavered,  sought  to  rally,  and 
at  last  broke  and  ran  to  the  horse-holders  hidden 
in  the  thickets.  Thither  the  shells  pursued  them, 
bursting  all  along  the  plain,  and  as  Mildred  Fisher 
gazed  she  saw  three  men  on  the  field,  powerless 
to  reach  the  shelter.  One  was  wounded,  —  an 
officer,  evidently,  —  and  the  other  two  were  seek 
ing  to  support  him  to  his  horse  hard  by.  At  this 
moment  a  fragment  of  shell  killed  the  animal 
before  their  eyes. 

«  Ride  out !  Ride  out ! "  cried  Millie  Fisher  to 
a  horse-holder  that  she  observed  close  by  in  the 
woods.  He  was  mounted  himself,  and  he  held 
the  bridles  of  three  horses.  He  looked  half 
bewildered,  pale,  disabled.  A  shell  burst  pre 
maturely,  out  of  range  and  wide  of  aim,  high  in 
the  air  above  their  heads. 

« I  can't,"  he  said  ;    «  I'm  hit ! " 

"  Give  me  the  line,  then  ! "  she  cried. 

He  was  past  reasoning,  beyond  surprise,  stunned 
by  the  clamors  and  succumbing  to  wounds. 


256  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

The  next  moment,  the  three  great  horses  in  a 
leash,  Madcap  led  his  wildest  chase  across  that 
stricken  plain,  now  shying  aside  as  some 
wounded  man  lifted  a  ghastly  face  almost  be 
neath  his  hoofs,  or  pitifully  sought  to  crawl 
away  like  a  maimed  and  dying  beast.  The 
thunder  of  the  frenzied  gallop  shook  the  ground ; 
the  group  of  men,  for  whom  the  rescue  was  de 
signed,  turned  a  startled  and  amazed  gaze  as  the 
horses  came  on  abreast,  snorting  and  neighing 
and  with  tossing  manes  and  wild  eyes,  rushing 
like  the  steeds  of  Automedon. 

"The  gallant  little  game-cock  !  "  exclaimed  Jim 
Fisher,  eying  the  supposed  horse-holder  from 
beside  the  smoking  guns  of  his  battery  in  the 
distance.  "  Now,  I'm  glad  to  spare  him  if  never 
another  man  goes  clear  ! " 

For  the  Confederate  cavalry  were  starting  out 
in  pursuit,  and  to  let  the  squadrons  pass  without 
danger  the  cannonade  was  discontinued.  The 
bugle's  mandate,  "Cease  firing!"  rose  lilting  into 
the  air,  and  there  was  sudden  silence  among  the 
guns.  As  Captain  Fisher  disengaged  the  strap  of 
his  field-glass  seeking  to  adjust  it,  he  noted  that 
there  was  something  continually  flying  out  at  the 
side  of  the  young  soldier's  saddle.  One  glance 
through  the  magnifying  lenses  at  the  floating 
folds  of  the  riding-habit  and  the  radiant  face 
crowned  by  the  purple  plume  —  and  Jim  Fisher 
almost  fell  under  the  wheel  of  the  limber  as  it 
was  run  up  to  the  gun-carriage. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  257 

"  My  God,  Watt ! "  he  exclaimed  to  his  first 
lieutenant  who  was  also  his  brother,  "  that  — 
that  —  cavalryman  is  —  is  Sister  Millie  !  " 

When  she  was  at  last  with  them,  for  in 
tumultuous  agitation  they  had  rushed  forward 
to  meet  her,  beckoning  and  shouting,  and  their 
kisses  had  smeared  the  gunpowder  from  their 
grim  countenances  to  her  lovely  roseate  cheeks, 
they  began  to  experience  the  reactionary  effects  of 
their  fright  and  scolded  her  with  great  rancor, 
declaring  repeatedly  they  felt  much  disposed, 
even  yet,  to  slap  her.  All  of  which  had  no  effect 
at  all  on  Millie  Fisher.  They  tried  aesthetic 
methods  of  reducing  her  to  see  her  deed  from 
their  standpoint. 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  patriotic  girl,  Sister," 
one  of  them  urged.  "  And  see,  now  —  you  have 
helped  three  Yankees  to  escape  !  " 

"  I  am  patriotic  —  more  patriotic  than  any 
body,"  she  asseverated.  "But  I  forgot  they 
wrere  Yankees  —  they  were  just  three  men  in 
great  danger ! " 

"But  you  were  in  great  danger,  Sister,  I  —  I 
—  might  have  shot  you  !  " 

"  Didn't  you  feel  funny  when  you  found  out 
who  'twas  ?  "  she  queried  with  a  giggle  of  great 
zest. 

"  I  felt  mighty  funny,"  said  Jim  Fisher, 
grimly.  « I  suppose  few  men  have  ever  felt  so 
funny ! " 

Few  men  have  ever  looked  less  funny  than  he 


258  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

as  he  reflected  on  the  episode.  He  recovered  his 
equanimity  only  gradually,  but  especially  after  he 
had  been  able  to  make  arrangements  to  convey 
intelligence  to  his  mother  within  the  Federal 
lines  as  to  his  sister's  safety.  This  was  ren 
dered  possible  by  a  flag  of  truce  sent  out  almost 
immediately  by  Colonel  Monette,  who  with  Lieu 
tenant  Seymour  was  in  the  greatest  anxiety  as 
to  her  fate,  feeling  a  sense  of  responsibility  in  the 
matter.  She  insisted  on  adding  a  line  addressed 
to  the  younger  officer,  bidding  him  sing  daily 
with  his  hand  on  his  heart :  — 

" '  Would  I  were  with  thee ! '  —  In  the  Confederate  lines  !  " 

if  he  expected  her  to  conserve  any  faith  in  his 
constancy. 

That  evening  Jim  Fisher  almost  regained  his 
wonted  cheerfulness.  The  other  four  brothers 
had  gathered  together  to  welcome  the  unexpected 
guest,  and  as  they  sat  around  a  great  wood  fire 
in  an  old  deserted  farm-house,  a  primitive 
structure  built  of  logs,  with  Millie  and  the 
youngest,  favorite  brother,  Walter,  in  the  centre, 
it  seemed  so  joyful  a  reunion  that  he  was  almost 
tempted  to  forgive  the  manner  in  which  it  had 
come  about. 

Jim  Fisher's  body-servant,  Caesar,  cooked  a  sup 
per  for  them,  in  a  room  across  an  open  passage, 
consisting  of  corn-bread,  bean-coffee,  bacon,  and 
a  chicken,  which  last  came  as  a  miracle,  as  he 
mysteriously  expressed  it,  upon  inquiry  —  "as 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  259 

de  mussy  ob  Providence  ! "  Caesar  was  a  brisk 
young  darkey,  with  a  capacity  for  a  sullen  and 
lowering  change,  and  with  a  great  distaste  for 
ridicule,  induced  by  much  suffering  as  the  butt 
of  the  practical  jokes  of  his  young  masters,  for 
among  so  many  Fisher  boys  one  or  another  must 
needs  be  always  disposed  for  mirth. 

"  You  needn't  ax  me  so  p'inted  'bout  dat  chick 
en's  pedigree,  Marse  Watt,"  Caesar  was  beguiled 
into  retorting  acrimoniously.  "Naw,  sah.  I 
dunno.  I  dunno  whedder  hit's  Dominicky  or 
Shanghai.  An'  ye  have  no  call  to  know  whedder 
hit's  foreign  or  native  !  I  tell  you  hit's  fried  — 
an'  dat's  all  I'm  gwine  ter  tell  you  !  —  fried  ter  a 
turn !  An'  if  you  hed  enny  religion,  you'd  say 
grace,  an'  give  Miss  Millie  a  piece  while  it's  hot. 
Naw,  sah  !  naw,  Marse  Watt !  I  ain't  no  robber  ! 
Marse  Jim  —  you  hear  what  Marse  Watt  done 
call  me !  Naw,  sah !  I  don't  expec'  ter  see 
Satan  !  —  not  dis  week,  nohow." 

Caesar  was  glad  to  gather  up  the  fragments 
and  make  off  to  the  kitchen  opposite,  where  he 
sat  before  the  fire  and  crunched  the  last  bone  of 
the  precious  fowl,  and  grinned  over  the  adroit 
methods  of  its  capture  on  this  great  occasion, 
for  such  a  luxury  could  hardly  be  bought  at 
any  price,  in  Confederate  money  or  any  other 
currency. 

After  supper  was  despatched  something  of  a 
levee  was  held ;  so  many  of  Miss  Millie  Fisher's 
old  friends  —  officers  in  the  military  force  — 


260  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

called  to  renew  the  acquaintance  of  happier 
times.  And  as  she  recognized  the  more  intimate 
old  playfellows  or  neighbors,  with  a  gush  of 
delighted  little  screams  and  a  musical  acclaim 
of  their  Christian  names,  sometimes  an  old  half- 
forgotten  nickname,  other  guests,  later  acquaint 
ances,  were  envious  and  wistful,  and  sought  to 
stem  the  tide  of  reminiscence,  the  "  Don't  you 
remembers "  and  "  Oh-h-h,  wasn't  it  funny  ?  " 
and  to  impress  the  values  of  the  present,  de 
spite  the  lures  of  the  past. 

She  was  delightfully  gracious  and  gay  with 
them  all,  and  perhaps  she  had  never  seemed 
more  lovely  than  the  flicker  of  the  firelight  re 
vealed  her,  for  there  were  no  other  means  of 
illumination.  She  stood  to  receive  in  the  centre 
of  the  floor,  radiant  in  her  dark  purple  riding- 
habit  and  hat,  the  military  figures,  all  in  full 
uniform,  clustering  about  her,  some  resting  on 
their  swords,  some  half  leaning  on  a  comrade's 
shoulder,  while  jest  and  repartee  went  around, 
the  laughter  now  and  again  making  the  rafters 
ring.  It  was  with  reluctance  that  they  gradu 
ally  tore  themselves  away  in  obedience  to  a 
realization  that  after  so  long  a  separation  the 
family  might  desire  to  spend  the  evening  alone, 
for  three  of  the  brothers  must  needs  repair  to 
their  own  command  at  some  distance  at  break 
of  day,  and  it  might  be  long  before  they  could 
all  be  together  once  more. 

So  at  last,  the  visitors  gone,  the  door  barred, 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  261 

the  night  wearing  on,  the  Fishers  gathered  round 
the  replenished  fire,  for  the  air  was  chill  and  the 
warmth  was  as  welcome  as  the  light.  The  de 
serted  house  was  entirely  bare  of  furniture,  and 
as  the  force  was  a  "  flying  column,"  flung  for 
ward  without  the  impediments  of  baggage  trains 
or  tents,  there  was  not  even  a  camp-stool  avail 
able.  Millie  and  Watt  sat  side  by  side  on  a  billet 
of  wood,  their  arms  around  each  other's  waists 
to  preserve  the  equilibrium,  and  the  rest  of  the 
brothers  half  reclined  on  the  saddles  on  the  floor. 
And  every  face  was  smiling,  and  every  head  was 
red.  Again  and  again  a  shout  of  laughter  went 
up,  as  she  detailed  the  news  of  the  town,  —  and 
some  very  queer  things,  indeed,  she  told,  —  and 
Watt,  the  lieutenant,  responded  with  the  news  of 
the  battery  and  the  camp. 

Perhaps  he  felt  that  his  prestige  as  a  wit  was 
threatened,  for  once  he  said,  "  I'd  give  a  hundred 
dollars,  Sister,  to  be  assured  that  all  you  are 
telling  is  the  truth." 

«  I  wouldn't  give  a  brass  thimble  to  be  assured 
that  all  you  are  telling  is  the  truth,  for  I  know 
'tisn't !  "  retorted  Millie. 

"  Oh,  I  meant  in  Confederate  money  ! "  He 
lowered  the  face  value  of  his  bid. 

They  kept  late  hours  that  night ;  but  at  last, 
when  the  fire  was  burning  low  and  great  masses 
of  coals  had  accumulated,  they  swung  a  military 
cloak  hammock-wise  across  a  corner  of  a  little 
inner  room,  hardly  more  than  a  cupboard,  and 


262  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

this  Millie  Fisher  in  her  new  role  as  a  campaigner 
found  a  comfortable  bed  enough.  The  restricted 
apartment  had  no  window,  and  no  door  save  the 
one  opening  into  the  larger  room ;  and  this  she 
set  ajar,  making  Walter  place  a  great  solid  shot 
against  it  lest  it  close,  declaring  that  if  that 
catastrophe  should  supervene,  she  should  die  of 
solitary  fright.  The  five  Fisher  brothers  were 
well  within  call  and  sight,  as  they  clustered 
around  the  embers,  talking  for  a  time  in  low 
voices  of  what  had  chanced  in  the  interval  of 
their  separation.  For  only  Jim  and  Watt  were 
together  in  the  same  company.  They  commented 
on  the  relative  cost  and  value  of  their  chaussure, 
as  they  stretched  out  their  long,  booted  legs,  with 
their  feet  on  the  hearth,  and  compared  the  wear 
ing  qualities  of  the  soles  and  upper  leather. 
They  looked  kindly  into  each  other's  faces  and 
laughed  as  they  made  a  point,  and  between  the 
two  younger  brothers,  Watt  and  Lucien,  there 
was  a  disposition  to  horseplay,  manifested  in 
unexpected  tweaks,  that  each  was  glad  to  receive 
as  a  compliment,  so  did  separation  and  the  sense 
of  an  imminent  and  ever  environing  danger  soften 
and  make  tender  their  fraternal  sentiment.  But 
first  one,  then  another,  flung  his  cloak  around 
him  and,  pillowing  his  head  on  his  saddle,  lay 
down  to  rest,  the  two  younger  brothers  the  last 
of  all. 

And  now  —  silence.     The  dull  red  light  of  the 
embers   gloomed    on   the  daubed   and    chinked 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  263 

walls  of  the  old  log  house,  with  its  rude  puncheon 
floor.  The  five  prostrate,  cloaked  figures  upon  it 
were  still,  asleep.  Here  and  there  from  amongst 
the  arms,  placed  ready  to  seize  at  a  moment's 
notice,  came  a  keen  steely  gleam.  Mildred  could 
hear  the  sentry's  tread  outside  up  and  down 
before  the  door.  Once,  far  away,  she  noted  the 
measured  tramp  of  marching  feet,  then  a  chal 
lenge,  and  anon,  "  Stand  !  Grand  Rounds  !  Ad 
vance,  Sergeant,  with  the  countersign ! "  and 
presently  the  march  was  resumed  in  the  distance. 
And  again  —  silence  !  Only  the  wind  astir  in  the 
forest,  only  the  rustle  of  the  lush  foliage.  All — 
how  different  from  her  dainty  bedroom  where 
she  had  spent  last  night,  the  downy  couch,  the 
silken  coverlet,  the  velvet  carpet,  the  lace  cur 
tains,  the  tremulous  flicker  of  the  wind  in  the 
flower-stand  on  the  balcony ! 

"  Hugh ! "  she  said  suddenly. 

Every  red  head  on  the  floor  had  lifted  at  the 
sound,  and  every  hand  had  clutched  a  weapon. 

«  What's  the  matter,  Sister  ?  " 

"  I  —  I  —  believe  there  must  be  a  flying  squir 
rel  or  —  or  —  something  in  the  wall.  Don't  they 
build  in  old  walls?  I've  seen  that  in  some 
book." 

Jim  and  Hugh  arose  and  investigated  the  wall 
of  the  inner  room  by  means  of  a  torch  of  light- 
wood. 

"  Why,  Sister,  it  is  as  solid  as  a  rock ! "  Jim 
asseverated.  "There's  no  flying  squirrel  here." 


264  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

He  extinguished  the  flaming  torch  in  the  ashes 
banked  in  the  chimney-place  in  the  larger  room, 
and  again  the  two  brothers  laid  themselves  down 
to  rest,  with  their  feet  on  the  hearth. 

Once  more  the  silence  of  the  night,  the  vague 
crumbling  of  the  ash,  the  measured  sound  of  the 
sentry's  tread.  There  was  no  echo  of  the  pass 
ing  of  time  —  but  how  leaden-footed!  How 
slowly  fared  the  night !  How  motionless  lay 
those  cloaked  figures,  each  with  his  head  on  his 
saddle ! 

"  Watt,"  her  voice  came  plaintively  out  of  the 
gloom.  "  I'm  scared  !  " 

This  time,  though  all  stirred,  they  did  not  rise. 

«  Pshaw  !     Scared  of  what  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer.  Only  after  a  time  she 
queried  irrelevantly,  "  Can  mice  climb  ?  " 

"Did  you  see  that  in  a  book,  too?"  asked  Watt. 

"  They  can  only  climb  under  certain  condi 
tions,"  opined  Hugh,  sleepily. 

"  But  they'd  scorn  to  intrude  on  a  lady  in  a 
hammock,  Sister,"  declared  George. 

"  Oh,  hush,  George !"  said  Jim,  authoritatively. 
"  No  mouse  can  get  up  there,  Sister.  Why  don't 
you  go  to  sleep  ?  " 

«  I  can't,"  said  Millie  Fisher,  plaintively.  "  I 
saw  so  many  awful  things  to-day  !  " 

"You  had  better  think  about  mice,"  said 
Watt,  quickly,  to  effect  a  diversion.  "  They  are 
minute,  but  monstrous.  Just  imagine  how  one 
could  scale  the  wall,  and  taking  its  tail  under 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  265 

its  left  arm  spring  across  to  your  hammock,  and 
run  along,  say,  the  nape  of  your  neck !  Oh-h-h  ! 
wouldn't  that  be  just  aw-w-wful !  " 

"  Oh,  hush,  Watt !  "  said  Jim.  "  Just  compose 
your  mind,  Sister.  Shut  your  eyes  and  think 
about  nothing." 

"  Think  how  nearly  you  scared  a  gallant  cap 
tain  of  artillery  out  of  his  seven  senses  to-day," 
suggested  Watt,  anew.  "  I  thought  Jim  would 
get  run  over  by  the  gun-carriages  and  the  caissons, 
whether  or  no.  He  was  so  scatter-brained,  and 
white,  and  wild-eyed,  and  blundering  —  nearly 
under  the  horses'  feet." 

Millie  Fisher  gave  a  pleased  little  laugh. 

«  Was  he  ?     Was  he,  truly  ?  " 

« He  was,  for  a  fact.  Few  captains  of  artil 
lery  have  the  opportunity  to  make  their  own 
sister  a  target  in  a  regular  knock-down-and-drag- 
out  fight.  I  thought  I  was  going  to  have  to 
support  the  gentleman  off  the  field  of  battle. 
He  couldn't  stand  up  for  a  while." 

"  How  funny  !  "  exclaimed  Millie  Fisher,  de 
lightedly.  "  Just  too  funny." 

She  shifted  her  position  in  the  hammock, 
closed  her  eyes,  and  when  she  opened  them  again 
the  sun  was  flaring  into  the  open  door  and 
window  of  the  large  room,  and  all  the  five  Fisher 
brothers  were  up  and  fully  accoutred  for  the 
duty  of  the  service,  and  she  was  requested  to  get 
out  of  the  hammock  that  it  might  again  be 
turned  into  a  cloak. 


266  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

The  details  of  her  exploit  were  brought  back 
to  the  main  body  of  the  Federal  army  and 
bruited  abroad  by  the  men  whom  she  had  res 
cued  from  death  or  capture.  One  of  these,  the 
officer,  was  much  disposed  to  vaunt  his  grati 
tude  and  sense  of  obligation,  and  as  Miss  Millie 
Fisher  was  as  well  known  as  the  river  itself,  the 
incident  created  no  small  stir  in  many  different 
circles.  The  girl  was  held  to  be  a  prodigy  of 
courage.  All  the  men  of  the  family  were  known 
to  be  brave,  eke  to  say,  fractious.  There  had 
been  seldom  a  row  of  any  sort,  in  several  genera 
tions,  in  which  a  Fisher's  red  head  had  not  been 
in  the  thick  of  it,  and  held  high.  There  were 
several  who  were  now  men  of  mark,  but  never 
had  aught  else  so  appealed  to  their  pulse  of  pride, 
their  close  bond  of  union  in  family  ties  and  clan 
nish  affection  for  which  they  were  noted.  Great 
were  the  boastings  of  the  Fisher  brothers,  each 
feeling  that  he  shone  by  reflected  light,  and 
echoes  of  their  vain-glorious  brag  were  borne  to 
the  storm  centre  by  that  mysterious  means  of  com 
munication  known  as  the  Grape-vine  Telegraph. 

One  day  Seymour  detailed,  with  a  touch  of 
bitter  sarcasm,  the  rumor  that  Jim  Fisher  had 
declared  that  Sister  Millie  could  stampede  the 
whole  Yankee  army  if  she  had  the  chance. 
With  his  customary  bluntness  Seymour  had 
broached  the  subject  on  a  hospitable  occasion,  in 
a  group  both  of  officers  and  civilians.  The  lat 
ter  said  nothing,  leaving  it  to  the  comrades  of 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  267 

the  men  who  had  benefited  by  her  hair-brained 
bravery  and  dashing  equestrianism  to  controvert 
the  hyperbole.  But  Ashley's  tact  was  so  rooted 
in  good  nature  that  it  was  difficult  to  take  him 
amiss.  He  could  not  say,  he  declared,  whether 
she  could  stampede  the  army,  but  he  could  testify 
that  she  had  captured  it. 

The  Grape-vine  was  shortly  burdened  with 
other  rumors  that  were  of  far  more  import  to 
Seymour,  who  was  of  a  serious  mind,  and  of  an 
exacting,  not  to  say,  petulant,  temper.  These 
traits  had  been  intensified  by  his  recent  subjection 
to  the  whims  and  caprices  of  a  coquette  of  excep 
tional  capacity,  for  his  feelings  were  deeply  in 
volved.  He  was  truly  in  love,  and  all  his  dearest 
interests  hung  on  the  uncertain  telegraphy  of  the 
Grape-vine.  It  was  an  unhappy  time  for  him, 
when  he  doubted  in  a  rush  of  hope,  and  again 
believed  sunk  in  the  despondency  of  absolute 
despair,  having  almost  as  much  foundation  for 
the  one  as  the  other,  the  reports  of  her  marriage 
to  Lawrence  Lloyd. 

This  time  the  Grape-vine  had  proved  a  reli 
able  medium  of  information.  Colonel  Lloyd  had 
sought  and  secured  leave  of  absence  long  enough 
to  ride  fifty  miles  across  country  to  greet  her  as 
soon  as  he  had  heard  she  was  within  the  Con 
federacy.  When  her  father  joined  the  family 
party  Colonel  Lloyd  laid  siege  for  his  consent  to 
an  immediate  marriage. 

They  had  long  been  engaged,  he  urged. 


268  THE   STOKM   CENTRE 

"  I  had  almost  forgotten  that,"  Millie  interpo 
lated.  She  had  promised  her  assistance  in  the 
persuasion  of  her  father,  and  thus  she  fulfilled 
her  pledge. 

"  There  is  no  reason  for  further  delay,"  Lloyd 
insisted. 

"  I  hwe  been  a  debutante  these  —  four  — 
years  !  "  she  suggested  demurely. 

Lloyd  submitted  that  he  hoped  there  were  no 
objections  to  him  in  Colonel  Fisher's  estimation. 

"Except  such  as  are  insuperable  —  you'll 
never  be  any  better,'/  suggested  Millie. 

It  would  be  undesirable,  even  dangerous,  Lloyd 
argued,  to  send  her  back  to  her  home  in  Roanoke 
City  with  a  flag  of  truce  in  the  present  state  of 
conflict. 

"  But  it  is  not  at  all  dull  there  —  "  she  inter 
rupted  vivaciously.  "  Some  very  nice  Yankee 
officers  are  in  society  there  —  several  old  friends 
of  yours,  papa.  Colonel  Monette  and  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Blake  of  the  regular  army  —  old  class 
mates  of  yours.  And  some  others  whom  you 
don't  know  —  Captain  Baynell,  who  is  very 
handsome,  and  Colonel  Ashley  —  he  belongs  to 
the  volunteers ;  he  is  most  agreeable  and  highly 
thought  of,  and  oh  —  of  course  Lieutenant  Sey 
mour  —  oh,  it  is  not  dull  there  !  " 

Lloyd  looked  at  her  in  blank  dismay,  and  the 
blank  dismay  on  the  face  of  her  father  was  nearly 
as  marked,  but  the  latter's  anxiety  was  due  to  a 
different  cause  —  what  would  his  wife  decide  if 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  269 

she  were  here  !  —  for  every  one  who  knew  the 
Fishers  was  well  aware  that  Guy  Fisher,  albeit 
a  man  of  much  force  in  his  own  domain  of  busi 
ness  or  military  life,  «  sung  mighty  small "  in  all 
matters  in  which  his  wife  had  concern. 

Lloyd  rallied  to  the  attack  and  continued  to 
explain  that  he  had  orders  detaching  him,  show 
ing  that  he  would  be  stationary,  in  command  of 
a  fort  in  the  far  South  for  some  time,  and  that 
Millie  would  be  in  a  position  to  be  comfortable. 

"  But  can  I  ride  horseback  there  ? "  she 
stipulated.  "  I  have  just  found  out  what  I  can 
do  in  that  line  ! " 

She  liked  to  describe  this  conversation  after 
ward.  Her  lover  was  the  most  serious  and 
literal-minded  of  men,  anxious  and  doubtful,  and 
her  father  the  prey  of  vacillation  and  indecision. 
They  looked  alternately  at  her  and  at  each  other 
with  an  expression  of  startled  bewilderment  as 
she  spoke,  seeking  to  adjust  what  she  had  said 
with  their  own  knowledge  of  the  facts. 

The  flying  column  was  once  more  in  motion, 
and  one  evening,  after  a  considerable  distance 
southward  had  been  accomplished,  the  leave  both 
of  Colonel  Fisher  and  Colonel  Lloyd  being  close 
upon  expiration  and  decision  exigent,  the  doubt 
ing,  anxious  father  gave  his  consent. 

The  young  people  were  married  like  campaign 
ers  under  a  tree  in  a  beautiful  magnolia  grove,  the 
rhododendron  blooming  everywhere  in  the  woods 
and  the  mocking-birds  in  full  song.  Colonel  Lloyd 


270  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

was  in  uniform,  armed  and  spurred,  Miss  Fisher 
in  her  hat  and  riding-habit,  which  last  she  wore 
with  peculiar  elegance ;  as  the  skirts  of  the  day 
were  of  great  length,  the  superfluous  folds  were 
caught  up  and  carried  over  one  arm,  and  it  was 
said  she  had  attained  her  graceful  proficiency 
in  this  art,  which  was  esteemed  of  much  diffi 
culty,  by  constant  practice  before  the  long  mirror 
in  her  wardrobe  at  home.  She  used  to  tell  after 
ward  of  the  beautiful  site,  the  velvet  turf,  the 
magnolia  blooms,  the  rhododendron  blossoms, 
the  singing  mocking-birds.  Then  she  would 
enumerate  the  brilliant  martial  assemblage  that 
witnessed  the  ceremony,  the  men  of  high  rank  in 
full  uniform ;  the  wives  of  a  number  of  them 
—  refugees  in  the  Confederacy  "  seeking  for  a 
home,"  as  the  sardonically  humorous  song  of  that 
day  phrased  it  —  also  graced  the  occasion.  Her 
father  and  brothers,  all  the  six  Fisher  men,  were 
present,  and  she  used  to  says  with  the  tone  of 
an  after-thought,  but  with  a  glint  of  mischief 
in  her  eye,  "  And  Colonel  Lloyd  —  he  was  there, 
too!" 

There,  but  hardly  up  to  the  standard.  He  was 
a  man  whose  courage  had  been  of  especial  note, 
even  in  those  days  when  bravery  seemed  the 
rule.  He  had  had,  too,  exceptional  opportunities 
to  display  his  mettle.  But  on  this  occasion  his 
terror  was  so  palpable  that  he  trembled  percepti 
bly  ;  he  was  pale  and  agitated ;  he  fumbled  for 
the  ring  and  occasioned  a  general  fear  that  he 


THE  STORM  CENTRE  271 

might  let  it  fall  —  altogether  furnishing  an  ad 
mirable  exhibition  of  the  stage  fright  usual  with 
bridegrooms. 

All  these  details  did  she  observe  and  recollect 
and  even  his  gravity  would  relax  as  she  rehearsed 
them  in  after  years.  It  was  considered  one  of 
the  evidences  of  her  incurable  frivolity  that  she 
seemed  to  care  nothing  for  that  momentous 
incident  of  her  experience  in  those  days,  hardly 
to  remember  it,  —  the  exploit  by  which  she  had 
saved  the  lives  of  three  men,  sore  harassed  and 
beset ;  but  she  found  endless  source  of  interest 
in  the  reminiscence  of  trifles  such  as  the  incon 
gruous  aspect  of  the  chaplain  who  officiated  at 
the  wedding  ceremony,  with  his  spurs  showing 
on  his  reverend  heels  beneath  his  surplice,  and 
the  brass  buttons  on  his  sleeves  as  he  lifted  his 
hands  in  benediction,  —  which  afforded  her  a 
glee  of  retrospect. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

AFTER  the  escape  of  Julius  Roscoe  time  held 
to  a  tranquil  pace  in  the  placidities  of  the  storm 
centre.  The  rose-red  dawns  burst  into  bloom 
and  the  days  flowered  whitely,  full  of  fragrance 
and  singing  birds,  of  loitering  sunshine  and 
light-winged  breezes.  One  by  one  the  still  noons 
glowed  and  glistered,  expanding  into  summer 
radiance,  and  dulled  gradually  to  the  mellow 
splendors  of  the  sunset.  Then  fell  the  serene 
dusk,  blue  on  the  far-away  mountains,  violet 
nearer  at  hand,  with  a  white  star  in  the  sky,  and 
a  bugle's  strain  leaping  into  the  air  like  a  thing 
of  life,  a  vivified  sound.  And  all  the  panorama 
of  troops,  and  forts,  and  camps,  and  cannon 
might  be  some  magnificent  military  spectacle,  so 
remote  seemed  the  war  —  so  unreal.  Every 
morning  the  "  ladies  "  wrought  at  their  lessons  in 
the  library,  and  Leonora  cut  their  small  summer 
garments  and  helped  the  seamstress,  who  came  in 
by  the  day,  to  sew.  Despite  these  absorptions 
Mrs.  Gwynn  managed  to  find  •  leisure  to  read 
aloud  to  Judge  Roscoe  his  favorite  old  novels, 
and  essays,  and  dull  antiquated  histories.  She 
evolved  subjects  of  controversy  on  which  to 
argue  with  him,  and  was  facetious  and  found 

272 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  273 

occasion  to  call  him  "Your  Honour"  oftener 
than  heretofore.  For  he  had  grown  old  sud 
denly  ;  his  step  had  lost  its  elasticity ;  he  looked 
up  a  cane  that  had  once  been  presented  to  him 
by  some  fraternity ;  his  hair  was  turning  white 
and — worst  sign  of  all  —  he  was  not  sorry  to  be 
approaching  the  end. 

"  The  night  is  long,  and  the  day  is  a  burden," 
he  once  said. 

Then,  when  she  reminded  him  of  duty,  he 
recanted.  But  he  had  obviously  fallen  into  that 
indifference  to  life  incident  to  advancing  age, 
and  was  sensible  of  a  not  involuntary  gravitation 
toward  the  tomb.  Later  he  asked  her  if  she  did 
not  think  those  lines  of  Stephen  Hawes's  had  a 
most  mellow  and  languorous  cadence,  — 

"  For  though,  the  day  appear  ever  so  long, 
At  last  the  bell  ringeth  to  even-song." 

He  showed  great  anxiety  concerning  Captain 
Baynell's  recovery,  but  he  had  never  mentioned 
to  her  the  fact  of  Julius's  presence  in  the  house. 
She  knew  that  he  and  probably  old  Ephraim 
had  been  aware  of  it,  but  this  was  only  a  con 
structive  knowledge  on  her  part,  and  founded 
on  no  assurance.  When  once  more  Baynell  was 
able  to  come  downstairs,  she  perceived  that  he 
himself  had  no  remote  consciousness  of  his  assail 
ant.  He  had  entirely  accepted  the  theory  of  a 
fall  instead  of  a  collision,  and  was  only  a  little 
deprecatory  and  embarrassed  at  being  so  long 
in  getting  himself  away. 


274  THE  STORM   CENTRE 

"  Positively  my  last  appearance !  "  He  was 
reduced  even  to  the  hackneyed  phrase. 

Mrs.  Gwynn  made  the  conventional  polite  pro 
test,  and  the  "  ladies  "  joyously  and  affectionately 
flocked  around  him,  and  his  heart  expanded  to 
the  grave  kindness  of  his  host.  Nevertheless  he 
appreciated  a  subtle  change.  Despite  the  enhanc 
ing  charm  of  the  season,  which  even  a  few  days 
had  wrought  to  a  deeper  perfection,  the  place 
had  somehow  fallen  under  a  tinge  of  gloom. 
But  the  roses  were  blooming  at  the  windows, 
the  lilies  stood  in  ranks,  tall  and  stately,  in  the 
borders,  the  humming-birds  were  rioting  all  day 
in  the  honeysuckle  vines  over  the  rear  galleries 
and  the  side  porch,  the  breeze  swept  back  and 
forth  through  the  dim,  perfumed,  wide  spaces 
of  the  house,  which  seemed  expanded,  with 
all  the  doors  open.  Sometimes  he  attributed 
the  change  to  the  tempered  light,  for  all  the 
trees  were  in  full  leaf,  and  the  deeply  um 
brageous  boughs  transmitted  scarce  a  beam  to 
the  windows,  once  so  sunny ;  much  of  the  time, 
too,  the  shutters  were  partially  closed.  And 
though  the  children  flitted  about  like  little  fairies, 
in  their  thin  white  dresses,  and  Mrs.  Gwynn, 
garbed,  too,  in  white,  seemed,  with  her  floating 
draperies,  in  the  transparent  green  twilight, 
like  some  ethereal  dream  of  youth  and  beauty, 
there  was  a  pervasive  sense  of  despondency, 
of  domestic  discomfort,  of  impending  disaster. 
Sometimes  he  attributed  the  change  to  one  or 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  275 

two  untoward  chances,  a  revelation  of  the  real 
character  of  war  that  happened  to  be  presented 
to  the  observation  of  the  household.  The 
"  ladies  "  came  clamoring  in  one  day,  all  wide- 
eyed  and  half  distraught.  With  that  relish  of 
horror  characteristic  of  ignorance,  a  negro  woman, 
a  visitor  of  Aunt  Chaney's,  had  detailed  to  them 
the  sentence  of  a  soldier  to  be  shot  for  some 
military  crime  —  shot,  as  he  knelt  on  his  own 
coffin.  Presently  they  heard  the  music  of  the 
band  playing  a  funeral  march  along  the  turn 
pike  as  the  poor  wretch  was  taken  out  with  a 
detail  from  the  city  limits ;  then,  only  the  drum, 
a  terrible  sound,  a  dull,  muffled  thud,  at  intervals, 
that  barely  timed  the  marching  footfall,  while 
the  victim  was  in  the  midst !  And  still  the  vibra 
tion  of  the  mournful  drum,  seeking  out  every 
responsive  nerve  of  terror  within  the  shuddering 
children  ! 

Their  painful,  tearless  cries,  their  clinging 
hands,  their  frantic  appeals  for  help  for  the 
doomed  creature  —  would  no  one  help  him !  — 
were  most  pathetic. 

And  though  Leonora  could  shut  the  windows 
and  gravely  explain,  then  tell  a  story  and  divert 
the  moment,  —  they  were  so  young,  so  plastic,  so 
trustful,  —  no  ingenuity  could  find  a  satisfactory 
method  to  account  for  the  anti-climax  of  the 
tragedy,  when  within  the  hour  came  the  same 
detail,  marching  briskly  back  along  the  turnpike, 
with  fife  and  drum  playing  a  waggish  tune.  The 


276  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

wide,  daunted  eyes  of  the  children,  their  paling 
cheeks,  their  breathless  silence,  annotated  the 
lesson  in  brutality,  in  the  essential  heartlessness 
of  the  world,  except  for  the  tutored  graces  of  a 
cultivated  philanthropy.  For  a  long  time  one 
or  the  other  would  wake  in  the  night  to  cry  out 
that  she  heard  the  muffled  drum,  —  they  were 
taking  the  man  out  to  shoot  him,  kneeling  on  his 
coffin,  —  arid  again  and  again  would  come  the 
plaintive  query,  "  And  is  nobody,  nobody  sorry  ?  " 

The  incident  passed  with  the  events  of  the 
crowded  time,  but  even  within  the  domestic 
periphery  harmony  had  ceased  to  reign  as  of 
yore.  Old  Ephraim  was  a  bit  sullen,  gloomy, 
did  his  work  with  an  ill  grace,  and  repudiated  all 
acquaintance  with  "  Brer  Rabbit "  and  "Brer  Fox." 
The  soldiers  in  the  neighboring  camps  —  possibly 
to  secure  an  influence,  his  alienation  from  the 
interest  of  his  quasi-owner,  in  order  to  ferret 
out  more  of  the  mystery  concerning  the  Confed 
erate  officer,  possibly  only  animated  by  politi 
cal  fervor,  and  it  may  be  with  a  spice  of  mischief, 
finding  amusement  in  the  old  negro's  garrulous 
grotesqueries  —  had  been  talking  to  him  of 
slavery,  making  the  most  of  his  grievances,  set 
ting  them  in  order  before  him,  and  urging  him 
to  rouse  himself  to  the  great  opportunities  of 
freedom. 

"I  done  make  up  my  mind,"  he  said  auto 
cratically,  one  day  in  the  kitchen.  "I  gwine 
realize  on  my  forty  acres  an'  a  muel ! " 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  277 

For  this  substantial  bonanza  freedom  was 
supposed  to  confer  on  each  ex-slave. 

"  Forty  acres  an'  a  mule ! "  the  old  cook 
echoed  in  derisive  incredulity  and  with  a  scorn 
ful  black  face.  "You  done  realize  on  de  mule 
—  a  mule  is  whut  you  is,  sure  !  Here's  yer 
mule !  An'  now  you  go  out  an'  fotch  me  a 
pail  of  water,  else  I'll  make  ye  realize  on  enough 
good  land  ter  kiver  ye  !  Dat's  whut !  It'll  be 
six  feet  —  not  forty  acres, — but  it  kin  do  yer 
job ! " 

He  might  have  made  a  fractious  politician  but 
for  this  adverse  influence,  for  he  had  the  variant 
moods  of  a  mercurial  nature,  and  in  gloom  showed 
a  morose  perversity  that  could  have  been  easily 
manipulated  into  a  spurious  sense  of  martyrdom, 
lacking  a  tutored  ratiocination  to  enable  him 
to  discriminate  the  facts.  But  despite  his  fail 
ings,  his  ignorance,  the  bewildering  changes  in 
his  surroundings,  never  a  word  concerning  his 
young  master  escaped  his  lips,  never  an  inadver 
tent  allusion,  a  disastrous  whisper.  He  scarcely 
allowed  himself  a  thought,  a  speculation. 

"  Fust  thing  I  know,"  he  reflected  warily,  « I'll 
be  talkin'  ter  myself.  They  always  tole  me  dat 
walls  had  ears ! " 

A  day  or  two  of  murky  weather  seemed  to 
penetrate  the  mental  atmosphere  as  well.  It  was 
perhaps  the  inauguration  of  the  chill  interval 
known  as  "blackberry  winter."  Everywhere  the 
great  brambles  were  snowy  with  bloom,  and  in 


278  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

the  house  the  "  ladies  "  shivered  and  clasped  their 
cold  elbows  in  the  sleeves  of  their  thin  summer 
dresses  till  the  fenders  and  fire-dogs  were  brought 
out  once  more,  and  the  flicker  of  hearthstone 
flames  made  cheery  the  aspect  of  the  library,  and 
dispensed  a  genial  warmth.  The  air  was  moist ; 
the  trains  ran  with  a  dull  roar  and  an  undertone 
of  reverberation  ;  there  was  a  collision  of  boats 
in  the  fog  on  the  river,  involving  loss  of  life,  and 
one  night,  the  window  being  up,  the  sentry  in 
passing  called  Captain  Baynell  out  on  the  portico. 
He  said  he  hesitated  to  summon  the  corporal  of 
the  guard,  lest  the  sound  should  pass  before  the 
non-commissioned  officer  could  come. 

«  What  sound  ?  "  asked  Baynell. 

"  Listen,  sir,"  said  the  sentry. 

The  night  was  dark.  There  was  no  moon. 
The  stars  now  and  then  glimmering  through  the 
mists  afforded  scant  illumination  to  the  earth. 
The  fires  of  the  troops  in  bivouac  about  the  town 
shone  like  thousands  of  constellations,  reflected 
by  the  earth.  The  wind  was  surging  fitfully 
among  the  pines.  There  was  a  dull  iterative 
beat,  rather  felt  than  heard. 

«  The  train  ?  "  suggested  Baynell. 

"  The  train  is  in,  sir." 

"  Must  have  been  a  freight,"  Baynell  hazarded, 
for  the  indefinite  vibration  had  ceased. 

"That's  <hep,  hep,  hep,'  —  that's  marching 
feet,  sir,  —  that's  what  it  is  ! " 

"Well,  what  of    that?"   Baynell  demanded. 


THE  STORM   CENTRE  279 

« It's  the  corporal  of  the  guard  going  out  with 
the  relief." 

«  It's  too  early  —  " 

"  Grand  Rounds,  possibly." 

"  It's  too  near,"  objected  the  man.  "  It's 
very  near." 

The  wind  struck  their  faces  with  a  dank  fillip 
of  dew.  The  vine  hard  by  was  dripping ;  they 
could  hear  the  drops  fall,  and  a  silent  interval, 
and  again  a  falling  drop. 

"There  is  nothing  now,"  said  Baynell.  "It 
was  doubtless  some  patrol.  The  air  is  very 
moist,  and  sounds  are  heavier  than  usual." 

"  This  seemed  to  me  very  near,  sir,"  said  the 
soldier,  discontentedly.  He  wished  he  had  fired 
his  piece  and  called  for  the  corporal  of  the  guard. 
He  had  hesitated,  for  the  corporal  had  scant 
patience  with  a  military  zealot  who  was  for 
ever  discovering  causes  of  alarm  without  foun 
dation,  and  this  exercise  of  judgment  was  a 
strain  on  a  soldier's  sense  of  duty.  He  had 
expected  the  captain  to  respond  to  the  mere 
suggestion  of  a  secret  approach,  remembering  the 
search  for  the  hidden  Rebel  officer.  But  Baynell 
had  never  heard  of  that  episode  ! 

Suddenly  all  the  camps  broke  into  a  turbu 
lence  of  sound.  A  hundred  drums  were  beating 
the  tattoo.  From  down  the  valley  and  over  the 
river  the  bugle  iterated  the  strain.  Near  the 
town  and  along  the  hills  it  was  duplicated  anew, 
and  all  the  echoes  of  the  crags  and  the  rocks 


280  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

of  the  river  bank  repeated  it,  and  called  out  the 
mandate,  and  sang  it  again  in  a  different  key ; 
at  last  it  died  into  a  fitful  repetition ;  silence 
once  more  ;  an  absolute  hush. 

A  rocket  went  up  from  the  fort  hard  by ; 
another  rose,  starlike  and  stately,  from  unseen 
regions  beyond  a  hill.  Presently  the  lights  were 
dying  out  like  magic  all  along  the  encampments, 
as  if  some  great  cataclysm  were  among  the  stel 
lular  reflections,  blotting  them  from  the  sphere 
of  being.  The  constellations  above  glowed  more 
brightly  as  the  earth  darkened.  The  wind  was 
gathering  force.  Baynell  listened  as  the  boughs 
clashed  and  surged  together. 

"  You  doubtless  heard  the  patrol,"  he  said. 
And  again  —  "  The  air  is  dank." 

Then  he  turned  and  went  within ;  the  soldier 
marched  back  and  forth,  as  he  was  destined  to 
do  for  some  time  yet,  and  listened  with  all  the 
keen  intentness  of  which  he  was  capable.  And 
heard  nothing. 

The  next  morning  —  it  was  still  before  dawn 

—  a  sudden  sharp   clamor  rose  from  a  redoubt 
within  which  was  a  powder  magazine  near  the 
main  works,  lying  on  the  hither  side  of  the  river. 
The  mischief  which  the  earlier  sentinel  at  the 
Roscoe  place  anticipated  had  come ;  how,  whence, 

—  the   man   now   on   duty   hardly   knew.     He 
fired  his  rifle  and  called  for  the  guard.     Then 
a  few  sharp  reports,  and  a  tumult  of  shouting 
sounded  from  the  redoubt.      A  general   alarm 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  281 

ensued.  The  drums  were  beating  the  long  roll 
in  the  infantry  camps,  —  a  nerve-thrilling,  terri 
fying  vibration  ;  and  the  sharp  cry,  «  Fall  in  !  — 
Fall  in  !  "  was  like  an  incident  of  the  keen,  rare, 
matutinal  air,  the  iterative  command  sounding 
like  an  echo  from  every  quarter  in  which  the 
lines  of  tents  were  beginning  to  glimmer  dimly. 
From  where  the  cavalry  horses  were  picketed  in 
long  rows  came  the  clash  of  accoutrements  and 
the  tramp  of  hoofs  as  the  trumpets  sang  "  Boots 
and  Saddles  !  "  Once  a  courier  —  a  shadowy, 
mounted  figure,  half  distinguishable  in  the  gray 
obscurity,  seeming  gigantic,  like  some  horseman 
of  a  fable  —  dashed  past  in  the  gloom,  going  or 
coming  none  could  know  whither.  The  clamors 
increased,  the  shots  multiplied,  then  the  clear, 
chill  light  came  gradually  over  the  turmoils  of 
darkness  and  sudden  surprise.  The  first  rays  of 
the  sun  struck  upon  the  Confederate  flag  flying 
from  the  redoubt,  and  its  paroled  garrison  were 
trooping  across  to  the  main  line  of  fortifica 
tions,  bearing  the  miraculous  story  that  they 
had  awakened  to  find  the  work  full  of  Confeder 
ate  soldiers  who  seemed  to  have  mined  their  way 
into  the  place  from  some  subterranean  access, 
and  who  were  now  in  the  name  of  Julius  Roscoe, 
their  ranking  officer,  demanding  the  surrender  of 
the  fort  which  the  redoubt  overlooked. 

The  Federal  commander  would  have  shelled 
them  out  of  their  precarious  advantage  with  very 
hearty  good-will,  but  he  feared  for  the  stores  of 


282  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

powder,  which  he  really  could  not  spare.  More 
over,  the  explosion  of  the  magazine  at  such  close 
quarters  could  but  result  in  the  total  demolition 
of  the  main  work  and  its  valuable  armament, 
inflicting  also  great  destruction  of  life.  Thus, 
although  the  burly  and  experienced  warrior, 
Colonel  Deltz,  was  fairly  rampant  with  indigna 
tion  at  the  insignificance  of  this  bold  enemy  both 
in  point  of  the  subordinate  rank  of  the  leader  and 
the  small  number  of  the  force,  he  was  fain  to  hold 
parley,  instead  of  opening  fire  upon  the  redoubt 
at  once  and  wiping  the  raiders,  with  one  hand,  as 
it  were,  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  It  may  be 
doubted  if  any  capable  and  trusted  military  expert 
ever  discharged  a  more  distasteful  duty.  Never 
theless,  it  was  performed  secundum  artem,  with 
every  show  of  those  amenities  which  of  all  pro 
fessional  courtesies  have  the  slightest  root  in 
truth  and  real  feeling.  He  invited  the  surrender 
of  the  redoubt,  ignoring  the  demand  for  the  sur 
render  of  the  fort  as  a  puerile  and  impudent  folly, 
offering  the  usual  fine  and  humane  suggestions 
touching  the  avoidance  of  the  useless  effusion  of 
blood,  such  as  often  before  have  been  heard  when 
a  sophistry  must  needs  fill  the  breach  in  lieu  of 
force.  When  this  was  declined,  Julius  Roscoe 
was  reminded,  in  the  most  cautious  terms,  of  the 
personal  jeopardy  incurred  by  a  commander  who 
undertakes  to  hold  out  an  untenable  position. 
Julius  Roscoe's  reply,  couched  in  the  same  strain 
of  courteous  phraseology,  such,  indeed,  as  might 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  283 

have  been  employed  by  a  general  of  division, 
deliberating  on  articles  of  capitulation  involving 
the  well-being  of  an  army,  intimated  that  he  was 
popularly  supposed  to  be  able  to  take  care  of 
himself ;  that  so  far  from  being  unprepared  to 
hold  the  redoubt  which  he  had  captured,  he  had 
means  at  his  disposal  to  possess  himself  of  the 
fort  itself,  and  if  its  garrison  would  but  await  his 
onset,  he  should  be  happy  to  entertain  Colonel 
Deltz  in  his  own  quarters  at  dinner  in  a  cam 
paigner's  simple  way  —  say,  at  one  of  the  clock. 

These  covert  allusions  to  the  signal  advantages 
of  his  situation  showed  that  Lieutenant  Roscoe 
was  fully  apprized  of  the  very  large  quantity  of 
ammunition  stored  in  the  magazine,  and  the  tone 
of  his  rejoinder  intimated  that  he  would  avail 
himself  to  the  uttermost  of  its  efficiency.  The 
works  were  close  enough  to  render  visible  the 
occupations  of  the  Confederates.  Though  gaunt 
and  half-starved,  many  ragged  and  barefoot,  they 
were  as  merry  as  grigs  and  as  industrious  as 
beavers,  destroying  such  Federal  stores  as  they 
could  not  remove,  spiking  or  otherwise  disabling 
the  ordnance  that  they  could  not  use,  —  the  heavy 
howitzers  at  the  embrasures,  —  and  briskly  pre 
paring  to  serve  the  barbette  battery,  that  they  had 
shifted  to  command  the  fort  and  a  line  of  in- 
trenchments  taken  at  a  grievous  disadvantage  in 
the  rear,  and  some  lighter  swivel  artillery  that 
could  sweep  all  the  horizon  within  range. 

It  was  a  sight  to  stir  the  gorge  of  a  professed 


284  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

soldier  and  a  martinet.  If  aught  of  action  could 
have  availed,  the  colonel  would  have  welcomed 
a  fierce  and  summary  devoir.  But  the  true 
soldier  rarely  allows  personal  antagonism  or  a 
sentimental  theory  to  influence  the  line  of  con 
duct  to  which  duty  and  prudence  alike  point. 
He  swallowed  his  fury,  and  it  was  a  great  gulp 
for  a  heady  and  choleric  man  who  had  lived  by 
burning  gunpowder  —  lo,  these  many  years.  He 
perceived  that  his  garrison,  able  to  descry  the 
antics  of  the  Confederates  in  the  redoubt,  were 
apprized  of  their  own  imminent  peril  from  the 
magazine  in  the  hands  of  their  enemy  —  now, 
practically  a  mine.  There  was  a  doubt  among 
his  observant  officers  as  to  whether  the  reckless 
band  were  taking  any  of  the  usual  precautions, 
requisite  in  dealing  with  so  extensive  a  store  of 
explosives,  as  they  joyfully  loaded  the  cannon. 
Under  these  circumstances,  attack  being  out  of  the 
question,  Colonel  Deltz  could  hardly  be  assured  of 
the  efficiency  of  his  force  in  defence.  His  garrison 
were  palsied  by  surprise,  the  mysterious  appear 
ance  of  the  Confederates,  and  the  impunity  of  their 
situation.  They  could  only  be  shelled  out  of  the 
redoubt  by  the  jeopardy  of  the  powder  magazine 
itself,  and  its  explosion  would  destroy  the  lives  of 
the  besiegers  as  well  as  the  besieged.  Hence  strat 
egy  was  requisite.  The  fort  was  gradually  evacu 
ated  as  a  lure  to  draw  the  raiders  into  the  main 
works,  where  they  could  be  dealt  with,  thus  quit 
ting  their  post  of  advantage. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  285 

Later  in  the  day  from  a  knob  called  Sugar 
Loaf  Pinnacle  an  artillery  fire  opened,  the  shells 
falling  at  first  at  uncertain  intervals,  seeking  to 
ascertain  the  range ;  then,  in  fast  and  furious 
succession,  hurtling  down  upon  the  guns  of  the 
masked  battery  beside  the  river.  The  missiles 
seemed  but  tiny  clouds  of  white  smoke,  each 
with  a  heart  of  fire,  the  fuse  redly  burning  against 
the  densely  blue  sky,  till  dropping  elastically  to 
the  moment  of  explosion  it  was  resolved  into 
a  fiercely  white  focus  with  rayonnant  fibres  and 
stunning  clamors. 

The  town  itself  was  hardly  in  danger  during 
this  riverside  bombardment,  unless,  indeed,  from 
some  accident  of  defective  marksmanship.  But 
with  all  the  world  gone  mad,  the  atmosphere  itself 
a  field  of  pyrotechnic  magnificence,  the  familiar 
old  mountains  but  a  background  to  display  the 
curves  a  flying  shell  might  describe,  now  and 
again  bursting  in  mid-air  ere  it  reached  its  billet, 
the  non-combatant  populace  was  panic-stricken. 
Streets  were  deserted.  All  ordinary  vocations 
ceased.  The  more  substantial  buildings  of  brick 
or  stone  were  crowded,  their  walls  presumed 
to  be  capable  of  resisting  at  least  the  spent 
balls,  wide  of  aim,  for  these  were  often  en 
dowed  with  such  a  residue  of  energy  as  still 
to  be  destructive.  Cellars  were  in  request,  and 
while  the  darkness  precluded  the  terrifying 
glare  of  the  bursting  projectiles,  nevertheless 
the  tremendous  clamor  of  the  detonation,  the 


286  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

wild  reverberations  of  the  echoes,  the  shouts  of 
cheering  men,  the  sound  of  bugles  and  drums 
and  of  voices  in  command  in  the  distance,  gave 
intimations  of  what  was  going  forward,  and 
uncertainty  perhaps  enhanced  fear. 

«  Dar,  now,  de  Yankee  man's  battery  is  done 
gone  too ! "  exclaimed  Uncle  Ephraim,  as  the 
voice  of  authority  rang  out  sharply,  with  all  its 
echo-like  variants  in  the  subalterns'  commands. 
The  clangor  of  accoutrements,  the  heavy  but  swift 
roll  of  the  wheels  of  gun-carriages  and  caissons, 
the  tumultuous  hoof-beats  of  horses  at  full  gallop, 
the  spirited  cheering  of  the  artillerymen,  filled  the 
air  —  and  then  silence  ensued,  deep  and  dark,  the 
stone  walls  of  the  cellar  vaguely  glimmering  with 
one  candle  set  on  the  head  of  a  barrel. 

"  He's  gone  wid  'em,  —  dat  man  !  Time  dat 
bugle  blow  he  tore  dat  bandage  off  his  haid  — 
nicked  or  no,  —  dat  he  did  !  " 

Uncle  Ephraim  was  seated  on  an  inverted 
cotton  basket,  and  Aunt  Chaney,  with  the  three 
"  ladies "  clustered  about  her  knees,  sat  on  the 
flight  of  steps  that  led  down  from  a  cautiously 
closed  door.  The  "  ladies  "  kept  their  fingers  in 
their  ears  as  a  protection  against  sound,  but  the 
deaf-mute,  strangely  enough,  was  the  most  acute 
to  discern  the  crash,  possibly  by  reason  of  the 
vibrations  of  the  air,  since  she  could  not  hear 
the  detonation  of  the  shells. 

Somehow  the  sturdy  courage  of  that  soldierly 
shout  was  reassuring. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  287 

"Dere  ain't  no  danger,  ladies,"  declared  Aunt 
Chaney.  Then,  "  Oh,  my  King  ! "  she  cried  in 
an  altered  voice,  while  the  three  "ladies"  hid 
their  faces  in  the  folds  of  her  apron  as  a  terrific 
explosion  took  place  in  mid-air,  the  pieces  of  the 
shell  falling  burning  in  the  grove. 

"  Jus'  lissen  at  dat  owdacious  Julius !  "  mut 
tered  Uncle  Ephraim,  indignantly.  "  I  never 
'lowed  he  war  gwine  ter  kick  up  sech  a  tarrifyin' 
commotion  as  dis  yere,  nohow." 

" I  wish  Gran'pa  would  come  down  here," 
whined  one  of  the  twins. 

"  Where  the  cannon-balls  can't  catch  him," 
whimpered  the  other. 

"  What  you  talking  about,  ladies  ?  "  demanded 
the  old  cook,  rising  to  the  occasion.  "  You  'spec' 
a  gemman  lak  yer  gran'pa  gwine  sit  in  de  cellar, 
lak  —  lak  a  'tater!"  —  the  simile  suggested  by 
a  bushel-basket  half  full  of  Irish  potatoes  for 
late  planting  in  the  "  garden  spot." 

The  "ladies,"  reassured  by  the  joke,  laughed 
shrilly,  a  little  off  the  key,  and  clung  to  her  com 
fortable  fat  arm  that  so  inspired  their  confidence. 

"  /  gwine  sit  in  de  cellar  tell  /  sprout  lak  a 
'tater,  ef  disher  tribulation  ain't  ober  'twell  den," 
declared  Uncle  Ephraim.  "  Dar  now  !  lissen  ter 
dat !  "  as  once  more  the  clamorous  air  broke  forth 
with  sound. 

The  "  ladies  "  exclaimed  in  piteous  accents. 

"  Dat  ain't  nuffin  ter  hurt,  honey,"  Aunt  Chaney 
reassured  her  trembling  charges.  "Dese  triflin' 


288  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

sodjers  ain't  got  much  aim.  Yer  gran'pa  an'  yer 
cousin  Leonora  wouldn't  stay  up  dere  in  de  law- 
brary  ef  dere  was  destruction  comin'." 

"Then  why  do  you  come  in  the  cellar?"  asked 
the  logical  Adelaide. 

"  Jes'  ter  git  shet  o'  de  terror  ob  seein'  it, 
honey  !  "  replied  Aunt  Chaney.  "  I  ain't  no  per- 
fessor  ob  war,  nohow,  an'  my  eyes  ain't  prac 
tised  ter  shellin'  an'  big  shootin'." 

"  Me,  neither,"  said  Adelaide. 

"  Nor  me,"  whimpered  Geraldine. 

"  De  cannon-balls  ain't  gwine  kill  us,  dough. 
We  gwine  live  a  long  time,"  Aunt  Chaney  opti 
mistically  protested.  "I  ain't  s'prised  none  ef 
when  de  war  is  ober  an'  we  tell  'bout  dis  fight, 
we  gwine  make  out  dat  when  de  shellin'  wuz  at 
de  wust,  you  three  ladies  an'  me  jus'  stood  up  on 
de  highest  aidge  ob  de  rampart  ob  de  fort,  an' 
'structed  de  men  how  ter  fire  de  cannon,  an' 
p'inted  out  de  shells  flyin'  through  de  air  wid  dat 
ar  actial  little  forefinger,  an'  kep'  up  de  courage 
ob  de  troops." 

"  On  which  side,  Aunt  Chaney  ?  "  asked  Ade 
laide,  the  reasonable. 

"On  bofe  sides,  honey,"  said  Aunt  Chaney, 
"'cordin'  ter  de  politics  ob  dem  we  is  talkin' 
to!" 

A  rat  whisked  over  the  floor,  across  the  dim 
slant  of  light  that  fell  from  the  candle  on  the 
head  of  the  barrel.  Uncle  Ephraim,  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  his  gray  head  slightly  canted  in  a 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  289 

listening  attitude,  smiled  vaguely,  pleased  like  a 
child  himself  with  Aunt  Chaney's  sketch. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Chaney  !  —  do  you  s'pose  we'll  tell 
it  that  way  ?  "  cried  Adelaide,  meditating  on  the 
flattering  contrast. 

"  Dat's  de  ve'y  way  de  tales  'bout  dis  war  is 
gwine  be  tole,  honey,  you  mark  my  words," 
declared  the  prophetess. 

The  contrast  of  the  imaginative  future  account 
with  the  troublous  actuality  of  the  present  so 
delighted  Adelaide  that  she  spelled  it  off  on  her 
ringers  to  Lucille,  both  repairing  to  the  side  of 
the  barrel  where  the  candle  was  glimmering,  in 
order  to  have  the  light  on  their  twinkling  fingers 
in  the  manual  alphabet.  The  humors  of  the 
expectation,  the  incongruity  of  their  martial  effi 
ciency,  the  boastful  resources  of  the  future,  elicited 
bursts  of  delighted  gigglings,  and  when  the  next 
shell  exploded,  neither  took  notice  of  the  hur 
tling  bomb  shrieking  over  the  house  and  bound 
for  the  river. 

The  rest  of  the  populace  were  enjoying  no 
such  solace  from  any  waggish  interpretation  of 
the  future.  The  present,  that  single  momentous 
day,  was  for  them  as  much  of  time  as  they  cared 
to  contemplate.  Doubtless  the  satisfaction  was 
very  general  among  the  citizens,  regardless  of 
political  prepossessions,  when  it  became  known 
that  Captain  Baynell  with  a  detachment  of  horse 
artillery  had  gone  out  and  taken  up  a  position 
that  had  enabled  him  at  last  to  silence  the 


290  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

Confederate  guns  on  the  pinnacle,  not,  however, 
before  the  masked  battery  by  the  river  was  prac 
tically  dismounted. 

Now  both  infantry  and  cavalry  were  ordered 
out  in  an  effort  to  intercept  the  venturesome 
Rebel  artillerymen  as  they  sought  to  descend  from 
their  steep  pinnacle  of  rock.  The  dust  on  the 
turnpike,  redly  aflare  in  the  sunset  rays,  be 
tokened  the  progress  of  the  march,  and  now  and 
then  it  was  harassed  by  shells  and  grape  from 
the  swivel  guns  of  the  fort,  for  Roscoe's  limited 
command  had  not  been  able  to  bring  the  heavier 
ordnance  of  the  embrasures  to  bear  upon  the 
camps  around  the  town. 

The  whole  community  was  in  a  panic,  for 
this  might  soon  betide.  But  a  gunboat  came, 
as  it  chanced,  up  the  river,  took  a  position  of 
advantage,  and  with  great  precision  of  aim  soon 
shelled  the  little  force  out  of  the  main  work. 
Their  capture  was  momently  expected,  but  they 
made  good  their  retreat  to  their  former  position 
in  the  redoubt,  with  the  intention  unquestion 
ably  of  escaping  thence  by  the  secret  passage 
which  had  afforded  them  access.  In  leaving, 
however,  the  powder  magazine  was  blown  up 
by  accident  or  design,  destroying  the  integrity 
of  the  whole  fortification,  and  shattering  nearly 
every  pane  of  glass  in  the  town,  the  force  of  the 
concussion  indeed  bringing  the  tower  of  the  hos 
pital  hard  by  to  the  ground.  That  the  raiders 
had  perished  was  not  doubted,  till  news  came  of 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  291 

a  sharp  skirmish  which  took  place  under  cover 
of  darkness  at  the  mouth  of  a  sort  of  grotto 
in  Judge  Roscoe's  grove,  and  in  the  confusion, 
surprise,  and  obscurity  all  escaped  save  some 
half-dozen  left  dead  upon  the  ground. 


CHAPTER   XV 

WITH  these  important  works  wrecked  and  dis 
mantled,  with  the  destruction  of  great  stores  of 
ammunition  and  artillery  which  obviously  placed 
the  system  of  defence  in  an  imperfect  condition, 
with  the  difficulty  of  repair  and  supply  which 
time  and  distance  and  insufficiency  of  transpor 
tation  rendered  insurmountable,  with  the  elation 
of  victory  that  so  dashing  an  exploit,  so  thor 
oughly  consummated,  must  communicate  to  the 
Confederate  troops,  an  attack  by  them  in  force 
was  daily  expected.  The  capture  of  Roanoke 
City  was  considered  an  event  of  the  near  future, 
anticipated  with  joy  or  gloom,  according  to  the 
several  interests  of  the  varied  population,  but  in 
any  case  regarded  as  a  foregone  conclusion. 
Daily  the  Northern  trains,  heavily  laden,  bore 
away  passengers  who  had  no  wish  to  become 
citizens  of  the  Southern  Confederacy.  Perish 
able  effects,  stocks  of  goods  of  the  order  that  a 
battle  would  endanger  or  destroy,  were  shipped 
to  calmer  regions.  Reinforcements  came  by 
every  train,  by  every  boat,  till  all  the  resources 
of  the  country  were  strained  to  maintain  them, 
and  still  the  Southerners  had  not  advanced  to 
the  opportunity.  It  was  one  of  those  occasions 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  293 

of  the  Civil  War  when  the  hand  that  took  was 
not  strong  enough  to  hold.  The  Confederate 
force  near  the  town  was  inadequately  supplied 
to  enable  it  to  do  more  than  seize  the  advantage, 
which  must  needs  be  relinquished.  Its  slim 
resources  admitted  of  no  permanent  occupation 
of  the  town,  and  the  empty  glory  of  the  capture  of 
Roanoke  City  would  have  been  offset  by  the  dis 
astrous  necessity  of  the  evacuation  of  the  post. 
Gradually  the  Federal  lines  were  extended  until 
they  lay  almost  as  before  the  raid  on  the  works. 
The  Confederate  ranks  had  been  depleted  to  fur 
nish  reinforcements  to  a  more  practicable  point. 
They  were  falling  back,  and  now  and  again 
sudden  sallies  brought  in  prisoners  from  such  a 
distance  as  told  the  story. 

The  town  was  once  more  secure,  work  was 
begun  on  the  dismantled  fortifications,  and  daily 
the  question  of  how  so  hazardous  an  enterprise 
could  have  been  devised  and  executed  revived  in 
interest.  The  commanding  general  had  not  the 
loss  of  the  town  itself  to  account  for,  as  at  one 
time  was  probable,  but  for  the  destruction  of  a 
great  store  of  ammunition,  as  well  as  the  loss 
of  life,  of  guns,  of  the  works  themselves,  repre 
senting  many  thousands  of  dollars  and  the  labor 
of  regiments.  All,  however,  seemed  hardly  com 
mensurate  with  the  disaster  he  would  sustain  in 
point  of  reputation.  That  such  a  dashing,  de 
structive  exploit  could  be  planned  and  consum 
mated  under  his  own  ceaselessly  vigilant  eyes 


294  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

appeared  little  short  of  the  miraculous,  and  for 
his  own  justification  he  looked  needfully  into 
its  inception. 

It  was  discovered  that  there  was  a  natural 
subterranean  passage  from  the  grove  of  Judge 
Roscoe's  place  to  a  cellar,  a  portion  of  which 
had  constituted  the  powder  magazine  on  the  Dev- 
rett  hill,  and  that  this  had  been  exploded  by  means 
of  a  slow  match  through  the  grotto,  previously 
prepared,  enabling  the  raiders  to  effect  their  es 
cape.  It  was  further  ascertained  that  Julius 
Roscoe,  who  had  led  the  enterprise,  had  been  in 
hiding  for  some  time  at  his  father's  home,  and 
had  been  seen  as  he  issued  thence  covered  with 
blood,  evidently  fresh  from  some  personal  alterca 
tion  with  a  Federal  officer,  for  weeks  a  guest  in 
the  house.  Although  bruised  and  bleeding,  this 
officer  could  offer  no  account  of  his  wounds  save 
a  fall,  impossible  to  have  produced  them ;  he 
had  raised  no  alarm,  and  had  given  no  report 
of  the  presence  of  an  enemy,  whose  intrusion  had 
wrought  such  damage  and  disaster  to  the  Union 
cause. 

One  detail  led  to  another,  each  discovery  un 
veiled  cognate  mysteries,  the  disclosure  of  trifles 
brought  forward  circumstances  of  importance. 
The  claim  of  the  sentinel  posted  at  Judge 
Roscoe's  portico  that  he  had  fired  the  first  shot 
which  raised  the  alarm,  evoked  the  fact  that  an 
earlier  sentry  had  told  Captain  Baynell  that  he  had 
heard  marching  feet  —  a  moving  column  in  the 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  295 

cadenced  step,  he  described  it  now  —  near,  very 
near,  that  murky  night,  and  that  Captain  Baynell 
had  waived  it  away  with  the  suggestion  of  "  a 
corporal  of  the  guard  with  the  relief  "  —  at  that 
hour !  —  when  the  next  relief  would  not  be  due 
till  nearly  midnight,  —  and  had  gone  back  into 
the  parlor,  where  Mrs.  Gwynn  had  begun  to  sing, 
«  Her  bright  smile  haunts  me  still." 

This  account  reminded  several  of  his  camp- 
fellows  that,  having  been  in  town  on  leave,  they 
had  met  that  dark  night  on  the  turnpike  a  force 
marching  in  column,  and  naturally  thinking  this 
only  the  removal  of  Federal  troops  from  some 
point  to  another,  here,  so  far  within  the  lines, 
they  had  quietly  stood  aside  and  watched  the 
shadowy  progress.  Nothing  amiss  had  occurred 
to  their  minds.  The  men  had  all  their  officers 
duly  in  position,  and  they  were  marching  silently 
and  with  great  regularity.  But  by  reference  to 
the  various  written  reports,  it  was  easily  ascer 
tained  that  there  was  no  shifting  of  troops  that 
day,  no  assignment  of  a  company  to  any  duty 
which  would  have  taken  them  out  at  that  hour, 
no  detail  reporting  for  service.  Still  following 
in  the  footsteps  of  this  column,  something  more 
was  learned  from  a  young  negro,  who  had  been 
out  to  fish  that  night,  which  was  the  delight  of 
the  plantation  darkey  at  this  season  of  the  year, 
and  had  cast  his  lines  from  under  the  bluff  near 
Judge  Roscoe's  place  ;  the  night  being  foggy,  he 
had  not  noticed,  till  they  were  very  near,  the 


296  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

approach  of  three  or  four  large  open  boats,  filled 
with  soldiers,  to  judge  by  the  rifles,  who  were 
rowing  very  fast  and  hard  against  the  current 
and  keeping  close  in  to  the  shore.  When  they 
landed  and  beached  the  boats  they  were  very 
quiet,  fell  into  order,  and  marched  off  without  a 
word,  except  the  necessary  curt  commands.  It 
had  never  occurred  to  him  to  give  the  alarm. 
He  had  taken  none.  They  had  rowed  so  close 
in  to  shore,  he  thought,  to  avoid  such  a  collision 
as  had  happened  in  the  mists  earlier  in  the  night, 
when  a  large  barge  was  run  down  by  a  gunboat 
and  sunk.  Doubtless  if  they  had  passed  the 
picket  boats,  the  misty  invisibility  of  all  the  sur 
face  of  the  water  protected  them,  but  for  the 
most  part  the  patrol  of  the  river  pickets  was  fur 
ther  down-stream.  As  they  had  come,  so  they 
had  gone,  and  the  matter  remained  a  nine  days' 
wonder.  The  commanding  general  almost  choked 
when  he  thought  of  it. 

"  This  is  going  to  be  a  serious  matter  for  Bay- 
nell,"  said  Colonel  Ashley,  one  day.  He  had 
called  at  Judge  Roscoe's  partly  because  he  did 
not  wish  to  break  off  with  abrupt  rudeness  an 
acquaintance  which  he  had  persisted  in  forming, 
and  partly  because  he  was  not  willing  in  the 
circumstances  that  had  arisen  to  seem  to  shun 
the  house. 

Judge  Roscoe  was  not  at  home,  but  Mrs. 
Gwynn  was  in  the  parlor.  Ashley  had  asked 
her  to  sing.  There  was  something  "  delightfully 


THE  STORM   CENTRE  297 

dreary,"  as  he  described  it,  in  the  searching,  ro 
mantic,  melancholy  cadences  of  her  sweet  con 
tralto  voice.  He  had  not  intended  to  open  his 
heart,  but  somehow  the  mood  induced  by  her 
singing,  the  quiet  of  the  dim,  secluded,  cool 
drawing-rooms,  with  the  old-fashioned,  high, 
stucco  ceiling,  and  the  shadowy  green  gloom  of 
the  trees  without,  prevailed  with  him,  and  he 
spoke  upon  impulse. 

"  What  matter  ?  "  she  asked.  She  had  wheeled 
half  around  on  the  piano-stool,  and  sat,  her  slim 
figure  in  its  white  dress,  delicate  and  erect,  one 
white  arm,  visible  through  the  thin  fabric,  out 
stretched  to  the  keyboard,  the  hand  toying  with 
resolving  chords. 

He  had  been  standing  beside  the  piano  as  she 
sang,  but  now,  with  the  air  of  inviting  serious 
discussion,  he  seated  himself  in  one  of  the  stiff 
arm-chairs  of  the  carved  rosewood  «  parlor  set " 
of  that  day,  and  replied  gravely  :  — 

"  His  association  with  Julius  Roscoe." 

Her  eyes  widened  with  genuine  amazement. 

"  It  seems,"  proceeded  Ashley,  slowly,  "  that 
a  dozen  or  two  of  the  soldiers,  who  claimed  to 
have  seen  a  Confederate  officer  on  the  balcony 
here,  recognized  him  as  Julius  Roscoe,  when  he 
reappeared  in  command  of  the  forces  that  cap 
tured  the  redoubt.  And  the  surgeon  has  always 
insisted  that  Baynell's  hurt  was  a  blow,  not  a 
fall.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  smothered  talk  in 
various  quarters." 


298  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

He  stroked  his  mustache  contemplatively, 
looked  vaguely  about  the  room,  and  sighed  in  a 
certain  disconsolateness. 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynn, 
sharply,  fixing  intent  eyes  upon  him.  "  How  can 
Captain  Baynell  be  called  in  question  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  general  theory  —  however  well  or 
ill  grounded  —  is  that  young  Roscoe  was  here 
on  a  reconnoitring  expedition  of  some  sort,  or 
perhaps  merely  on  a  visit  to  his  kindred,  and 
that  Baynell  winked  at  his  presence  on  account 
of  friendship  with  the  family,  instead  of  ar 
resting  him,  as  he  should  have  done.  It's  an 
immense  pity.  Baynell  is  a  fine  officer." 

Mrs.  Gwynn  had  turned  pale  with  excitement. 

"  But  none  of  us  knew  that  Julius  Roscoe  was 
in  the  house  !  "  she  exclaimed.  She  hesitated  a 
moment  as  the  words  passed  her  lips.  Judge 
Roscoe's  reticence  on  the  subject  might  imply 
some  knowledge  of  the  harbored  Rebel. 

Ashley  was  suddenly  tense  with  energy. 

"Don't  imagine  for  one  moment,  my  dear 
madam,  that  I  have  any  desire  to  extract  infor 
mation  from  you.  It  is  no  concern  of  mine  how 
he  came  or  went.  I  only  mention  the  subject 
because  it  is  very  much  on  my  mind  and  heart. 
And  I  don't  see  any  satisfactory  end  to  it.  I 
have  a  great  respect  for  Baynell  as  a  man,  and 
especially  as  an  artillerist,  and  somehow  in  these 
campaigns  I  have  contrived  to  get  fond  of  the 
fellow  !  —  though  he  is  about  as  stiff,  and  unre- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  299 

sponsive,  and  prejudiced,  and  priggish  a  bundle 
of  animal  fibre  as  ever  called  himself  human." 

"Why,  he  doesn't  give  me  that  idea,"  ex 
claimed  Leonora,  her  eyes  widening.  "  He 
seems  unguarded,  and  impulsive,  and  ardent." 

Colonel  Ashley  was  very  considerably  her 
senior  and  far  too  experienced  to  be  ingenuous 
himself.  He  made  no  comment  on  the  convic 
tion  her  words  created  within  him.  He  only 
looked  at  her  in  silence,  receiving  her  remark 
with  courteous  attention.  Then  he  resumed  :  — 

"  Of  course  in  a  civil  war  there  are  always 
some  instances  of  undue  leniency,  —  the  pressure 
of  circumstances  induces  it,  —  but  rarely  indeed 
such  as  this ;  it  amounts  to  aiding  and  abetting 
the  enemy,  however  unpremeditated.  Young 
Roscoe  could  not  have  secured  the  means  or  in 
formation  for  his  destructive  raid  had  not  Baynell 
permitted  him  to  be  housed  here.  Doubtless, 
however,  Baynell  thought  it  a  mere  visit  of  the 
boy  to  his  father's  family." 

« But  Captain  Baynell  never  dreamed  that 
Julius  Roscoe  was  in  the  house  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"That's  just  what  he  says  he  did — dreamed 
that  he  saw  him !  I  can  rely  on  you  not  to 
repeat  my  words.  But  I  have  had  no  confi 
dential  talk  with  him." 

"  I  am  sure  —  I  Jcnow  —  they  were  never  to 
gether  for  a  moment." 

"  The  surgeon  says  that  Roscoe's  knuckles  cut 
to  the  bone,"  commented  Ashley,  with  a  signifi- 


300  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

cant  smile.  But  the  triumphs  of  stultifying  Mrs. 
Gwynn  in  conversation  were  all  inadequate  to 
restore  his  usual  serene  satisfaction,  and  once 
more  he  looked  restlessly  about  the  rooms  and 
sighed. 

"  What  do  you  think  Captain  Baynell  was 
guilty  of  ?  Permitting  an  enemy  to  remain 
within  the  lines,  perdu,  unsuspected,  to  gather 
information,  and  make  off  with  it  —  conniving 
at  the  concealment,  and  assisting  the  escape  of 
an  enemy  ?  And  you  call  yourself  his  friend  ! " 

Leonora's  cheeks  were  flushed.  Her  voice  rang 
with  a  tense  vibration.  She  fixed  her  interlocu 
tor  with  a  challenging  eye. 

«  Oh —  I  don't  know  what  he  intended,"  replied 
Ashley,  almost  irritably.  "  Doubtless  he  had 
some  high-minded  motive,  so  intricate  that  he 
can  never  explain  it,  and  nobody  else  can  ever 
unravel  it.  I  only  know  he  has  played  the  fool, 
— and  I  fear  he  has  ruined  himself  irretrievably." 

"But  you  don't  answer  my  question  —  what 
do  you  think  he  has  done  ?  " 

Ashley  might  have  responded  that  his  conclu 
sions  were  not  subject  to  her  inquisition.  But 
his  suave  methods  of  thought  and  conduct  could 
not  compass  this  unmannerly  retort.  Moreover, 
it  was  a  relief  to  his  feelings  to  canvass  the  mat 
ter  so  paramount  in  his  mind  with  an  irrespon 
sible  woman,  rather  than  with  his  brother  officers, 
among  whom  it  was  rife,  thereby  sending  his 
speculations  and  doubts  and  views  abroad  as 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  301 

threads  to  be  wrought  into  the  warp  and  woof 
of  their  opinion,  and  possibly  give  undue  sub 
stance  and  color  to  the  character  of  the 
fabric. 

"  Why, — of  course  this  is  just  my  own  view, — 
formed  on  what  I  hear  from  outsiders,  —  and  I 
think  it  is  the  general  view.  Baynell  knew  the 
young  man  was  hidden  in  the  house,  on  a  stolen 
visit  to  his  father,  thinking  he  had  no  ultimate 
intentions  but  to  escape  at  a  convenient  oppor 
tunity.  These  separations  must  be  very  cruel 
indeed,  with  no  means  of  communication.  Bay 
nell,  though  very  wrongfully,  might  have  indulged 
this  concealment  from  motives  of  —  ah  —  er  — 
friendship  to  the  family,  for  young  Roscoe  would 
undoubtedly  have  been  dealt  with  as  a  spy,  had 
he  been  captured  in  lurking  here.  The  two  may 
have  been  more  or  less  associated,  —  certainly 
they  came  together  in  an  altercation  that  resulted 
in  blows.  I  think  Baynell  possibly  discovered 
Roscoe's  scheme,  and  threatened  him  with  arrest. 
Roscoe  knocked  him  down  the  stairs  and  fled 
from  the  house  to  the  grotto,  considering  this 
safe,  for  he  might  have  crossed  from  the  balcony 
to  the  firs  without  observation  if  he  had  been 
lucky,  as  at  that  time  none  of  us  knew  that  the 
grotto  existed.  Now  these  are  my  conclusions 
—  but  for  the  integrity  of  the  service  BaynelPs 
acts  and  his  motives  must  be  sifted.  They 
may  not  bear  to  an  impartial  mind  even  so 
liberal  a  construction  as  this.  It  is  a  threatening 


302  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

situation,  and  I  am  apprehensive  —  I  am  very 
apprehensive." 

Mrs.  Gwynn's  hand  fell  with  a  discordant  crash 
on  the  keys  of  the  piano. 

«  Why  —  why  —  what  can  they  do  to  him  ?  " 
she  gasped. 

Vertnor  Ashley  shied  from  the  subject  like  a 
frightened  horse. 

"Ah  —  oh  —  ah  —  er  —  well,"  he  said,  "let 
us  not  think  of  that."  He  paused  abruptly. 
Then,  " To  forecast  the  immediate  future  is 
enough  of  disaster.  There  is  already  said  to  be 
an  official  investigation  on  the  cards.  No  doubt 
charges  will  be  preferred,  and  he  will  be  brought 
to  a  court-martial." 

He  sighed  again,  and  looked  about  futilely,  as 
if  for  suggestion.  He  rose  at  length,  and  with 
his  pleasant,  cordial  manner  and  a  smile  of  depre 
cating  apology,  he  said,  " I  am  afraid  my  grim 
subjects  do  not  commend  me  for  a  lady's  parlor." 
Then  with  a  light  change  of  tone,  "So  much 
obliged  for  that  lovely  little  French  song  —  what 
is  it  —  Quel  est  cet  attrait  qui  m?  attire  f  I  want 
to  be  able  to  distinguish  it,  for  may  I  not 
ask  for  it  again  some  time  ?  "  And  bowing,  and 
smiling,  and  prosperous,  he  took  his  graceful 
departure. 

Mrs.  Gwynn  stood  motionless,  her  eyes  on  the 
carpet,  her  mind  almost  dazed  by  the  magnitude, 
by  the  terrors,  of  the  subjects  of  her  contem 
plation.  She  felt  she  must  be  more  certain ; 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  303 

she  could  not  leave  this  disastrous  complication 
thus.  She  could  not  speak  to  this  man,  friendly 
though  he  had  seemed,  lest  she  betray  some 
fact  of  her  own  knowledge  that  might  be  of  dis 
advantage  to  another  who  had  meant  no  ill  — 
nay,  she  was  sure  had  done  no  ill.  Then  she 
was  beset  by  the  realization  of  the  sophistry  of 
circumstance.  But  if  circumstance  could  be  ad 
duced  against  Baynell,  should  it  not  equally  pre 
vail  in  his  favor?  When  she,  knowing  naught 
of  the  lurking  Julius,  had  sent  to  his  hiding-place 
this  Federal  officer,  did  not  instantly  the  clamors 
of  discovery  resound  through  the  house  ?  She 
could  hear  even  now  in  the  tones  of  his  voice, 
steadied  and  sonorous  by  the  habit  of  command, 
sharp  and  decisive  on  the  air,  the  words,  "  You 
are  my  prisoner ! "  twice  repeated,  that  had 
summoned  her,  stricken  with  sudden  panic,  from 
her  flowers  on  the  library  table  to  the  hall,  where 
she  saw  the  balustrade  of  the  stairs  still  shaking 
with  the  concussion  of  a  heavy  fall.  And  as  she 
stood  there,  another  moment  —  barely  a  moment 
— brought  the  apparition  of  Julius,  flying  as  if 
for  his  life,  a  pistol  in  his  hand,  and  covered  with 
blood.  Dreams  !  Who  said  aught  of  dreams  ! 
This  was  not  the  course  a  man  would  take  who 
desired  to  shield  a  concealed  Rebel/  There  was 
no  eye-witness  of  the  altercation.  But  she,  on  the 
lower  floor,  had  heard  it  all  —  the  swift  ascent 
for  the  book,  the  exclamation  of  amazement, 
then  the  stern  voice  of  command,  the  words  of 


304  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

arrest,  the  impact  of  the  blow,  and  the  clamors 
of  the  fall.  Then  the  flight ;  she  had  seen  Julius, 
fleeing  for  safety,  fleeing  from  the  house  into  the 
very  teeth  of  the  camps. 

Should  not  Baynell  know  this,  the  event  that 
preceded  the  long  insensibility  which  had  so 
blunted  his  impressions,  his  recollections  ?  She 
resolved  to  confer  with  Judge  Roscoe.  How 
much  he  knew  of  Julius  Roscoe's  lurking  visit, 
how  much  he  cared  for  her  to  know,  she  could 
not  be  sure.  She  suspected  that  old  Ephraim 
was  fully  informed,  for  without  his  services  the 
visitor  could  hardly  have  been  maintained.  But 
neither  had  been  at  hand  at  the  moment  of  dis 
covery,  of  collision. 

When  Judge  Roscoe  came  in  she  submitted 
this  question  to  his  judgment.  To  her  surprise 
he  did  not  canvass  the  matter.  He  said  at  once : 
"  By  all  means  Captain  Baynell  ought  to  know 
this.  It  would  be  best  to  send  for  him  and 
explain  to  him  what  you  saw  and  heard,  —  the 
whole  occurrence.  Captain  Baynell  should  be 
made  aware  of  all  the  details  of  the  actual 
event  that  you  more  nearly  than  any  one  else 
witnessed." 

The  house  in  these  summer  days,  with  the 
shutters  half  closed  and  the  doors  all  open,  seemed 
more  retired,  more  solitary,  than  when  all  the 
busy  life  of  the  place  was  drawn  to  the  focus  of 
the  library  fire.  She  was  quite  alone,  as  she 
traversed  the  hall  and  sat  down  to  write  at  the 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  305 

library  table.  The  "  ladies  "  were  playing  out 
of  doors,  close  in  to  the  window  under  a  tree. 
Judge  Roscoe  had  business  in  the  town  and 
walked  thither  leaning  rather  heavily  on  his  cane, 
for  no  news  came  of  Acrobat,  and  somehow  he 
no  longer  cared  to  ride  the  glossy  iron-gray  that 
Captain  Baynell  still  left  grazing  in  his  pastures. 
So  still  were  all  the  precincts  she  feared  she  might 
not  find  a  messenger  as  she  went  out  on  the  lat 
ticed  gallery  searching  for.  old  Ephraim.  But 
there  he  sat  in  the  sun  in  front  of  the  kitchen 
door.  He  was  not  wont  to  be  so  silent.  He 
said  naught  when  she  handed  him  the  missive 
with  her  instructions,  but  he  looked  unwilling, 
with  a  sort  of  warning  wisdom  in  his  expression, 
and  several  times  turned  the  note  gingerly  in  his 
hand,  as  if  he  thought  it  might  explode.  He 
would  fain  have  remonstrated  against  the  re 
newal  of  communication  with  the  elements  that 
had  brought  so  much  disquiet  into  the  calm  life 
of  the  old  house  hitherto.  But  his  lips  were 
sealed  so  far  as  the  "  Yankee  man  "  and  Julius 
were  concerned.  And  he  would  maintain  that 
he  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  the  grotto  till 
indeed  it  was  blown  up. 

"All  dese  young  folks  is  a  stiff-necked  and 
tarrifyin'  generation,  an'  ef  dey  will  leave  ole 
Ephraim  in  peace,  he  p'intedly  won't  pester  dem," 
he  said  to  himself. 

Therefore,  merely  murmuring  acquiescence, 
"  Yes'm,  yes'm,  yes'm,"  while  he  received  his 


306  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

orders,  he  put  on  his  hat  which  he  had  hitherto 
held  in  his  hand,  and  walked  off  briskly  to  the 
tent  of  the  artillery  captain. 

The  succinct  dignified  tone  of  Mrs.  Gwynn's 
note  requesting  to  see  Captain  Baynell  at  his 
earliest  convenience  on  a  matter  of  business  pre 
cluded  effectually  any  false  sentimental  hopes, 
had  any  communication  from  her  been  calcu 
lated  to  raise  them.  He  was  already  mounted, 
having  just  returned  from  afternoon  parade  ;  and 
saying  to  Uncle  Ephraim  that  he  would  wait  on 
Mrs.  Gwynn  immediately,  he  wheeled  his  horse 
and  forthwith  disappeared  in  the  midst  of  the 
shadow  and  sheen  of  the  full-leaved  grove. 

Baynell  had  changed,  changed  immeasurably, 
since  she  had  last  seen  him.  Always  quiet  and 
sedate,  his  gravity  had  intensified  to  sternness, 
his  dignified  composure  to  a  cold,  impenetrable 
reserve,  his  attentive  interest  to  a  sort  of  wary 
vigilance,  all  giving  token  of  the  effect  wrought 
in  his  mental  and  moral  endowment  by  the 
knowledge  of  the  suspicions  entertained  concern 
ing  his  actions,  and  the  charges  that  were  being 
formulated  against  him. 

In  one  sense  these  had  already  slain  him. 
His  individuality  was  gone.  He  would  be  no 
more  what  once  he  was.  His  pride,  so  strong, 
so  vivid,  as  essential  an  element  of  his  being  as 
his  breath,  as  his  soul,  had  been  done  to  death. 
It  had  been  a  noble  endowment,  despite  its 
exactions,  and  maintained  high  standards  and 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  307 

sought  finer  issues.  It  had  died  with  the  woe 
of  a  thousand  deaths,  that  calumny  should  touch 
his  name ;  that  accusation  could  ever  find  a  foot 
hold  in  his  life ;  that  treachery  should  come  to 
investigation  in  his  deeds. 

She  rather  wondered  at  his  calmness,  the  self- 
possession  expressed  in  his  manner,  his  face. 
He  had  himself  well  in  hand.  He  was  not 
nervous.  His  haggard  pallor  told  what  the 
sleepless  hours  of  self-communing  brought  to 
him,  yet  he  was  strong  enough  to  confront  the 
future.  He  would  give  battle  to  the  false 
charge,  the  lying  circumstance,  the  implacable 
phalanxes  of  the  probabilities.  The  truth  was 
intrinsically  worth  fighting  for,  in  any  event, 
and  even  now  his  heart  could  swell  with  the 
conviction  that  the  truth  could  only  demonstrate 
the  impeccancy  of  his  official  record. 

He  met  her  with  that  grave,  conventional, 
inexpressive  c6urtesy  which  had  always  charac 
terized  him,  and  it  was  a  little  difficult,  in  her 
unusual  flutter  and  agitation,  to  find  a  suitable 
beginning. 

She  had  seated  herself  in  the  library  at  the 
table  where  she  had  written  the  note,  and  she 
was  mechanically  trifling  with  an  ivory  paper- 
knife,  the  portfolio  and  paper  still  lying  before 
her.  He  took  a  chair  near  at  hand  and  waited, 
not  seeking  to  inaugurate  the  conversation. 

"  I  sent  for  you,  Captain  Baynell,  because  I 
have  heard  something  —  there  are  rumors  —  " 


308  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

He  did  not  take  the  word  from  her,  nor  help 
her  out.  He  sat  quietly  waiting. 

"  In  short,  I  think  you  ought  to  know  that 
I  overheard  all  that  passed  between  you  and 
Julius  Roscoe  on  the  stairs  that  morning." 

Captain  Baynell's  rejoinder  surprised  her. 

"  Then  he  was  really  in  the  house  ?  "  he  said 
meditatively. 

"  Oh,  yes,  —  though  I  did  not  know  it  till  he 
dashed  past  me  in  the  hall.  Two  minutes  had 
not  elapsed  since  you  had  left  me  here  standing 
by  the  table." 

She  detailed  the  circumstances,  and  when  she 
had  finished  speaking  he  thanked  her  simply, 
and  said  that  the  facts  would  be  of  value  to 
him. 

« I  thought  you  ought  to  know  them,  hearing 
Colonel  Ashley  describe  the  various  rumors 
afloat  —  but,  but  these  —  they  —  they  will  soon 
die  out?"  She  looked  at  him  appealingly. 

He  did  not  answer  immediately.     Then  — 

"  I  shall  be  court-martialled,"  he  said  suc 
cinctly. 

Her  heart  seemed  almost  to  stand  still  in  the 
presence  of  this  great  threat,  yet  she  strove 
against  its  menace. 

"  Of  course  I  know  this  is  serious,  and  must 
trouble  all  your  friends,"  she  said  vaguely. 
"But  doubtless  —  doubtless  there  will  be  an 
acquittal." 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  liberty,  and  life  itself,"  he 


THE   STOKM   CENTRE  309 

said.  "But  I  do  not  care  for  either,  —  I  depre 
cate  the  reflections  on  my  character  as  a  soldier." 
He  hesitated  for  one  moment,  then  broke  out 
with  sudden  passion,  "  I  care  for  the  jeopardy 
of  my  honor  —  my  sacred  honor!" 

There  was  an  interval  of  stillness  so  long  that 
a  slant  of  the  sunset  light  might  seem  to  have 
moved  on  the  floor.  The  soft  babble  of  the  voices 
of  the  children  came  in  at  the  open  window ; 
the  mocking-bird's  jubilance  rose  from  among  the 
magnolia  blooms  outside.  The  great  bowl  on 
the  table  was  full  of  roses,  and  she  eyed  their 
magnificence  absently,  seeing  nothing,  remember 
ing  all  that  Ashley  had  said,  and  realizing  how 
difficult  it  would  be  to  convince  even  him,  with 
all  his  friendly  good-will,  of  the  simplicity  of 
the  motives  that  had  precipitated  the  real  events, 
so  grimly  metamorphosed  in  the  monstrous  mis 
chances  of  war. 

"  Oh  —  "  she  cried  suddenly,  with  a  poignant 
accent,  "  that  this  should  have  fallen  upon  you 
in  the  house  of  your  friends !  We  can  never 
forgive  ourselves,  and  you  can  never  forgive  us  ! " 

« There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  he  said  heart 
ily  ;  "  I  have  no  grievance  against  this  kind  roof. 
I  could  not  expect  Judge  Roscoe  to  betray  his 
own  son,  and  deliver  him  up  to  capture,  to  death 
as  a  spy — because  I  happened  to  be  here,  a 
temporary  guest.  And  I  could  not  expect  the 
young  man  to  voluntarily  surrender  —  for  my 
convenience.  No  —  I  blame  no  one." 


310  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

"  You  are  magnanimous ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Gwynn,  her  luminous  gray  eyes  shining  through 
tears  as  she  looked  at  him. 

"Only  omniscience  could  have  foreseen  and 
guarded  against  this  disastrous  complication  of 
adverse  circumstances.  But  the  results  are  seri 
ous  enough  to  justify  doubt  and  provoke  inves 
tigation.  Knowing  the  simple  truth,  it  seems  a 
little  difficult  to  see  how  it  can  fail  to  be  easily 
established  —  it  is  the  imputation  that  afflicts 
me.  I  am  not  used  to  contemplate  myself  as 
a  traitor  —  with  my  motives." 

"Oh,  it  is  so  unjust — so  rancorously  untrue! 
You  arrested  him  the  moment  you  saw  him  — 
although  he  was  in  Judge  Roscoe's  house.  You 
must  have  known  that  he  was  Judge  Roscoe's 
son." 

"  I  recognized  him  from  his  portrait  — "  Bay- 
nell  checked  himself.  He  would  not  have  liked 
to  say  how  often,  with  what  jealous  appraise 
ment  of  its  manly  beauty  and  interest  of  sugges 
tion,  he  had  studied  the  portrait  of  Julius  on  the 
parlor  wall,  knowing  him  as  a  man  who  had 
loved  Leonora  Gwynn,  and  fearing  him  as  a  man 
whom  possibly  Leonora  Gwynn  loved. 

"  But  I  was  obliged  to  arrest  him  on  the  spot 
—  why,  I  was  in  honor  bound." 

His  face  suddenly  fell  —  in  this  most  intimate 
essential  of  true  gentlemanhood,  in  this  dearest 
requisition  of  a  soldier's  faith,  that  is  yet  the 
commonest  principle  of  the  humblest  cam- 


THE  STORM  CENTRE  311 

paigner,  he  was  held  to  have  failed,  in  point  of 
honor.  He  was  held  to  have  paltered  and  played 
a  double  part,  to  have  betrayed  alike  his  coun 
try,  the  fair  name  of  his  corps,  and  his  own 
unsullied  record.  And  this  was  the  fiat  of  fair- 
minded  men,  comrades,  countrymen,  to  be  ex 
pressed  in  the  preferred  charges. 

Bankrupt  in  all  he  held  dear,  he  shrank  from 
seeming  to  beg  the  sheer  empty  bounty  of  her 
sympathy.  He  hardly  cared  to  face  these  reflec 
tions  in  her  presence.  He  arose  to  go,  and  it 
was  with  composed,  conventional  courtesy,  as 
inexpressive  as  if  he  were  some  casual  friendly 
caller,  that  he  took  his  leave,  resolutely  ignoring 
all  the  tragedy  of  the  situation. 

The  next  day  came  the  news  that  charges 
having  been  duly  preferred  he  had  been  placed 
in  arrest  to  await  the  action  of  the  general  court- 
martial  to  be  assembled  in  the  town. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ASHLEY,  in  common  with  a  number  of  Bay- 
nell's  friends,  did  not  recognize  a  fair  spirit  in 
the  inception  of  the  investigation.  The  military 
authorities  in  Roanoke  City  seemed  rancorously 
keen  to  prove  that  naught  within  the  scope  of 
their  own  duty  could  have  averted  the  disasters 
of  the  battle  of  the  redoubt.  The  moral  gymnas 
tic  of  shunting  the  blame  was  actively  in  prog 
ress.  The  proof  of  treachery  within  the  lines, 
individual  failure  of  duty,  would  explain  to  the 
Department  far  more  to  the  justification  of  the 
commander  of  the  garrison  of  the  town  the  losses 
both  of  life  and  material,  and  the  jeopardy  of 
the  whole  position,  than  admission  of  the  fact 
that  the  military  of  the  post  had  been  outwitted, 
and  that  the  enemy  was  entitled  to  salvos  of 
applause  for  a  very  gallant  exploit.  Indeed, 
only  specific  details  from  one  familiar  with 
the  interior  of  the  works,  to  which,  of  course, 
citizens  were  not  admitted,  could  have  informed 
Julius  Roscoe  of  the  location  of  the  powder 
magazine  and  enabled  him  to  utilize  in  this 
connection  his  own  early  familiarity  with  the 
surroundings.  Thus  the  theory  that  Julius  Ros 
coe  could  not  have  accomplished  its  destruc- 

312 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  313 

tion  had  he  not  been  harbored,  even  helped,  by 
the  connivance  of  a  personal  friend  in  the  lines, 
and  that  friend,  a  Federal  officer,  was  far  more 
popular  among  the  military  authorities  than  the 
simple  fact  that  a  Rebel  had  been  detected  visit 
ing  his  father's  house  by  a  Federal  officer,  a 
guest  therein,  promptly  arrested,  and  in  the  alter 
cation  the  one  had  been  hurt  and  the  other  had 
escaped.  Had  the  capture  of  the  redoubt  never 
occurred  later  as  a  sequence,  this  transient  en 
counter  of  Baynell's  would  hardly  have  elicited  a 
momentary  notice. 

The  aspect  of  the  court-martial  was  far  from 
reassuring  even  to  men  of  worldly  experience  on 
broad  lines.  The  impassive,  serious,  bearded 
faces,  the  military  figures  in  full-dress  uniform, 
the  brilliant  insignia  of  high  rank  being  specially 
pronounced,  for  of  course  no  officer  of  lower  de 
gree  than  that  of  the  prisoner  was  permitted  to 
sit,  were  ranged  on  each  side  of  a  long  table  on 
a  low  rostrum  in  a  large  room,  formerly  a  frater 
nity  hall,  in  a  commercial  building  now  devoted 
to  military  purposes.  The  spectacle  might  well 
have  made  the  heart  quail.  It  seemed  so  ex 
pressive  of  the  arbitrary  decrees  of  absolute  force, 
oblivious  of  justice,  untempered  by  mercy  ! 

A  jury  as  an  engine  of  the  law  must  needs  be 
considered  essentially  imperfect,  and  subject  to 
many  deteriorating  influences,  only  available  as 
the  best  device  for  eliciting  fact  and  appraising 
crises  that  the  slow  development  of  human  morals 


3U  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

has  yet  presented.  But  to  a  peaceful  civilian 
a  jury  of  ignorant,  shock-headed  rustics  might 
seem  a  safe  and  reasonable  repository  of  the 
dearest  values  of  life  and  reputation  in  compari 
son  with  this  warlike  phalanx,  combining  the 
functions  of  both  judge  and  jury,  the  very  at 
mosphere  of  destruction  sucked  in  with  every 
respiration. 

The  president,  a  brevet  brigadier-general,  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  was  of  a  peculiarly  fierce 
physiognomy,  that  yet  was  stony  cruel.  The 
judge-advocate  at  the  foot  had  the  look  of  laying 
down  the  law  by  main  force.  He  had  a  keenly 
aggressive  manner.  He  was  a  captain  of  cavalry, 
brusque,  alert ;  he  had  dark  side  whiskers  and 
a  glancing  dark  eye,  and  was  the  only  man  on 
the  rostrum  attired  in  an  undress  uniform.  His 
multifarious  functions  as  the  official  prosecutor 
for  the  government,  and  also  adviser  to  the  court, 
and  yet  attorney  for  the  prisoner  to  a  degree, — 
by  a  theory  similar  to  the  ancient  fiction  of  Eng 
lish  law  that  the  judge  is  counsel  for  the  accused, 
—  would  seem,  in  civilian  estimation,  to  render 
him  « like  Cerberus,  three  gentlemen  at  once,"  as 
Mrs.  Malaprop  would  say,  or  a  military  present 
ment  of  Pooh-Bah.  The  nominal  military  ac 
cuser,  acting  in  concert  with  the  judge-advocate, 
seated  at  a  little  distance,  was  conscious  of 
sustaining  an  unpopular  rdle,  and  it  had  tinged 
his  manner  with  disadvantage.  The  prisoner 
appeared  without  any  restraint,  of  course,  but 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  315 

wearing  no  sword.  The  special  values  of  his 
presence,  his  handsome  face,  his  blond  hair  and 
beard  that  had  a  glitter  not  unlike  the  gold  lace 
of  his  full-dress  uniform,  his  fine  figure  and  high 
bred,  reserved  manner,  were  very  marked  in  his 
conspicuous  position,  occupying  a  chair  at  a 
small  table  on  the  right  of  the  judge-advocate. 
Baynell  had  a  calm  dignity  and  a  look  of  steady, 
immovable  courage  incongruous  with  his  plight, 
arraigned  on  so  base  a  charge,  and  yet  a  sort  of 
blighted,  wounded  dismay,  as  unmistakable  as  a 
burn,  was  on  his  face,  that  might  have  moved 
even  one  who  had  cared  naught  for  him  to  resent 
ment,  to  protest  for  his  sake. 

The  light  of  the  unshaded  windows,  broad,  of 
ample  height,  and  eight  or  ten  in  number  on  one 
side  of  the  room,  brought  out  in  fine  detail  every 
feature  of  the  scene  within.  Beneath  no  sign  of 
the  town  appeared,  as  the  murmur  of  traffic  rose 
softly,  for  the  building  was  one  of  the  few  three- 
story  structures,  and  the  opposite  roofs  were  low. 
The  aspect  of  the  far-away  mountains,  framed 
in  each  of  the  apertures,  with  the  intense  clar 
ity  of  the  light  and  the  richness  of  tint  of  the 
approaching  summer  solstice,  was  like  a  subli 
mated  gallery  of  pictures,  painted  with  a  full 
brush  and  of  kindred  types.  Here  were  the  repe 
titious  long  ranges,  with  the  mouldings  of  the 
foothills  at  the  base,  and  again  a  single  great 
dome,  amongst  its  mysterious  shimmering  clouds, 
filled  the  canvas.  Now  in  the  background  were 


316  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

crowded  all  the  varying  mountain  forms,  while 
a  glittering  vacant  reach  of  the  Tennessee  River 
stretched  out  into  the  distance.  And  again  a 
bridge  crossed  the  currents,  light  and  airy  in  effect, 
seeming  to  spring  elastically  from  its  piers,  in  the 
strong  curves  of  the  suspended  arches,  while  a 
sail-boat,  with  its  head  tucked  down  shyly  as 
the  breeze  essayed  to  chuck  it  under  the  chin, 
passed  through  and  out  of  sight.  Another  win 
dow  showed  the  wind  in  a  bluffer  mood,  wrestling 
with  the  storm  clouds ;  showed,  too,  that  rain  was 
falling  in  a  different  county,  and  the  splendors  of 
the  iris  hung  over  far  green  valleys  that  gleamed 
prismatically  with  a  secondary  reflection. 

The  room  was  crowded  with  spectators,  both 
military  and  civilian,  finding  seats  on  the  benches 
which  were  formerly  used  in  the  fraternity  gather 
ings  and  which  were  still  in  place.  The  case  had 
attracted  much  public  attention.  There  were  few 
denizens  of  the  town  who  had  not  had  individual 
experiences  of  interest  pending  the  storming  of 
the  fort,  and  this  fact  invested  additional  details 
with  peculiar  zest  and  whetted  the  edge  of  curi 
osity  as  to  the  inception  of  the  plan  and  the 
means  by  which  Julius  Roscoe's  exploit  had 
become  practicable.  The  effect  of  the  imposing 
character  of  the  court  was  manifested  in  the 
perfect  decorum  observed  by  the  general  public. 
There  was  scarcely  a  stir  during  the  opening  of 
the  proceedings.  The  order  convening  the  court 
was  read  to  the  accused,  and  he  was  offered  his 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  317 

right  to  challenge  any  member  of  the  court- 
martial  for  bias  or  other  incompetency.  Bay- 
nell  declined  to  avail  himself  of  this  privilege. 
There  ensued  a  moment  of  silence.  Then,  with 
a  metallic  clangor,  for  every  member  wore  his 
sword,  the  court  rose,  and,  all  standing,  a  glitter 
ing  array,  the  oath  was  administered  to  each  of 
the  thirteen  by  the  judge-advocate.  Afterward 
the  president  of  the  court,  of  course  the  ranking 
officer  present,  himself  administered  the  oath  to 
the  judge-advocate,  and  the  prosecution  opened. 
The  military  accuser  was  the  first  witness 
sworn  and  interrogated,  but  the  prosecution  had 
much  other  testimony  tending  to  show  that  the 
prisoner  had  been  living  in  great  amity  with  per 
sons  notoriously  of  sentiments  antagonistic  to 
the  Union  cause,  as  exemplified  by  his  long  stay 
in  Judge  Roscoe's  house ;  that  he  was  in  corre 
spondence  and  even  in  intimate  association  with  a 
Rebel  in  hiding  under  the  same  roof  ;  that  either 
with  treacherous  intent,  or  for  personal  reasons, 
he  had  leniently  permitted  this  enemy  in  arms  to 
lie  perdu  within  the  lines  and  subsequently  to 
escape  with  such  information  as  had  resulted 
in  great  loss  of  men,  materials,  and  money  to  the 
Federal  government ;  that  he  had  been  apprised, 
by  the  sentinel  at  the  door,  of  the  approach  of  a 
body  of  troops  the  night  before  the  attack  on  the 
redoubt  took  place,  and  that  he  nefariously  or 
negligently  declined  to  investigate  the  incident. 
Most  of  this  evidence,  however,  was  circumstantial. 


318  THE  STOEM   CENTEE 

The  defence  met  it  strenuously  at  every  point. 
The  intimacy  between  Judge  Roscoe  and  the 
Baynell  family  was  shown  to  be  of  a  far  earlier 
date,  and  the  friendship  utterly  devoid  of  any 
connection  with  political  interests ;  in  this  re 
lation  the  accused  had  in  every  instance  sub 
ordinated  his  personal  feeling  to  his  military 
duty,  even  going  so  far  as  to  cause  the  property 
of  his  host's  niece  to  be  seized  for  military  ser 
vice, —  the  impressment  of  the  horse,  which 
Colonel  Ashley  testified  he  had  at  that  time  con 
sidered  an  unwarrantable  bit  of  official  tyranny, 
some  individuals  being  allowed  to  retain  their 
horses  through  the  interposition  of  army  officers 
among  their  friends. 

Colonel  Ashley  testified  further  that  the  pris 
oner  was  such  a  stickler  on  trifles,  as  to  seek  to 
check  him,  a  person  of  responsibility  and  discre 
tion,  an  experienced  officer,  in  expressing  some 
casual  speculations  in  the  presence  of  Judge 
Roscoe  concerning  troops  on  an  incoming  train. 

The  accused  admitted  that  he  had  not  investi 
gated  the  sound  of  marching  troops  in  the  thrice- 
guarded  lines  of  the  encampment,  but  urged  it 
was  no  part  of  his  duty  and  impracticable.  Small 
detachments  were  coming  and  going  at  all  hours 
of  the  night.  If  an  officer  of  the  guard,  going 
out  with  the  relief  or  a  patrol,  had  seen  fit  to 
march  across  Judge  Roscoe's  grove,  it  was  no 
concern  of  his  nor  of  the  sentinel's.  He  had  no 
divination  of  the  proximity  of  the  enemy. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  319 

Perhaps  the  ardor  of  the  witnesses,  called  in 
Captain  Baynell's  behalf,  when  the  prosecution 
had  rested  at  length,  made  an  impression  un 
favorable  to  the  idea  of  impartiality.  More 
than  one  on  cross-examination  was  constrained 
to  acknowledge  that  he  was  swayed  by  the 
sense  of  the  prisoner's  hitherto  unimpugnable 
record,  and  his  high  standing  as  a  soldier.  No 
such  admission  could  be  wrung  from  Judge 
Roscoe,  skilled  in  all  the  details  of  the  effect  of 
testimony.  His  plain  asseverations  that  his  son 
had  come  to  his  house,  not  knowing  that  a 
Federal  officer  was  a  temporary  inmate,  the 
account  of  the  simple  measures  taken  to  defeat 
the  guest's  observation  or  detection  of  the  young 
Rebel's  propinquity,  the  reasonableness  of  his 
quietly  awaiting  an  opportunity  to  run  the 
pickets  when  a  chance  meeting  resulted  in  dis 
covery  and  a  collision  —  all  went  far  to  establish 
the  fact  that  the  presence  of  Julius  Roscoe  was 
but  one  of  those  stolen  visits  home  in  which 
the  adventurous  Southern  soldiers  delighted  and 
of  which  Captain  Baynell  had  no  sort  of  knowl 
edge  till  the  moment  of  their  encounter,  when 
Julius  rushed  forth  to  the  gaze  of  all  the  camp. 

This  was  the  point  of  difficulty  with  the  prose 
cution,  the  point  of  danger  with  the  defence, — 
the  adequacy  of  the  proof  as  to  the  prisoner's 
knowledge  of  the  presence  of  the  Rebel  in  hiding, 
harbored  in  the  house.  For  this  the  prosecution 
had  the  apparition  of  the  Confederate  officer. 


320  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

covered  with  blood  and  later  identified  as  Julius 
Roscoe,  and  the  condition  of  Baynell's  wound, 
which  the  surgeon  swore  was  a  "  facer,"  delivered 
by  an  expert  boxer.  Evidently  this  came  from 
an  altercation,  in  which  both  had  forborne  the 
use  of  weapons,  thus  suggesting  some  collision 
of  interests,  as  between  personal  associates  or 
former  friends  rather  than  a  hand-to-hand  con 
flict  of  armed  enemies. 

On  this  vital  point,  to  form  the  conclusions  of 
military  men,  Baynell  could  command  no  testi 
mony  save  that  of  the  Roscoe  household,  — 
the  most  important  witness  of  course  being  the 
judge  himself,  who  had  devised  and  controlled 
all  the  methods  to  keep  the  Federal  officer 
unsuspicious  and  tranquil,  and  to  maintain  the 
lurking  Rebel  in  security.  The  anxiety  of  the 
authorities  to  fix  the  responsibility  for  the  dis 
closure  of  the  military  information  concerning 
the  interior  of  the  works,  which  only  one  familiar 
with  the  location  of  the  magazine  could  have 
given,  had  induced  them  to  ignore  Judge  Roscoe's 
shelter  of  their  enemy,  thus  avoiding  the  entangle 
ment  of  a  slighter  matter  with  the  paramount 
consideration  under  investigation.  While  the 
fact  that  his  feelings  as  a  father  must  needs  have 
coerced  Judge  IJoscoe  into  harboring  and  pro 
tecting  his  son  and  requiring  his  servant  to 
minister  to  his  wants,  still  the  recital  of  the 
concealment  of  his  presence  affronted  the  senti 
ment  of  the  court-martial,  even  though  Judge 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  321 

Roscoe's  part  was  obviously  restricted  to  the  so 
journ  of  the  Confederate  officer  in  his  house,  for 
he  had  no  knowledge  of  the  details  of  the  escape 
and  subsequent  adventures. 

The  course  of  the  proceedings  of  such  a  body 
was  not  competent  to  afford  any  very  marked 
relaxations  in  the  line  of  comedy  relief.  But 
certainly  old  Ephraim,  when  summoned  to  the 
stand,  must  have  been  in  any  other  presence  a 
mark  of  irresistible  derision,  not  unkind,  to  be 
sure,  and  devoid  of  bitterness. 

Keenly  conscious  that  he  had  been  discovered 
in  details  which  to  "  Marse  Soldier"  were  a 
stumbling-block  and  an  offence,  and  that  his 
own  prestige  for  political  loyalty  was  shattered, 
—  for  he  doubted  if  it  were  possible  to  so  pre 
sent  the  contradiction  of  his  conviction  of  his 
interest  and  yet  his  adherence  to  old  custom  and 
fidelity  in  such  a  guise  that  the  brevet  brigadier 
would  do  aught  but  snort  at  it,  —  he  came, 
bowing  repeatedly,  cringing  almost  to  the  earth, 
his  hat  in  his  hand,  his  worn  face  seamed  in  a 
thousand  new  wrinkles,  and  looking  nearly  eighty 
years  of  age.  The  formidable  embodiment  of 
military  justice  fixed  him  with  a  stern  comprehen 
sive  gaze,  and  the  brigadier,  who  had  no  realiza 
tion  of  the  martial  terrors  of  his  own  appearance, 
sought  to  reassure  him  by  saying  in  his  deep 
bluff  voice,  "Come  forward,  Uncle  Ephraim, 
come  forward."  The  old  negro  started  vio 
lently,  then  bowed  once  more  in  humble  depre- 


322  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

cation.  Suddenly  he  perceived  Baynell.  In 
his  relief  to  recognize  the  face  of  a  friend  he 
forgot  the  purport  of  the  assemblage,  and  broke 
out  with  a  high  senile  chirp. 

«  You  here,  Cap'n !  Well,  sah !  I  is  p'intedly 
s'prised."  Then  recollecting  the  situation,  he 
was  covered  with  confusion,  especially  as  Bay 
nell  remained  immovable  and  unresponsive,  and 
once  more  old  Ephraim  bowed  to  the  earth. 

Not  a  little  doubt  had  been  felt  by  the  court 
when  deliberating  upon  the  admissibility  of  the 
testimony  of  the  old  negro.  It  was  contrary 
to  the  civil  law  of  the  state  and  contravened  also 
the  theory  of  the  unbounded  influence  over  the 
slave  which  the  master  exerts.  In  view  of  the 
pending  abolition  of  slavery,  both  considerations 
might  be  considered  abrogated,  and  since  this 
testimony  was  of  great  importance  to  the  prose 
cution  as  well  as  to  the  defence,  bearing  directly 
on  the  main  point  at  issue,  —  as  a  f reedman  he 
was  duly  sworn.  The  members  of  the  court- 
martial  had  ample  opportunity  to  test  the 
degree  of  patience  with  which  they  had  been 
severally  endowed  as  the  old  darkey  was  engi 
neered  through  the  preliminary  statements;  in 
ducted  into  the  witness-chair  on  the  left  hand 
of  the  judge-advocate,  his  hat  inverted  at  his 
feet,  with  his  red  bandanna  handkerchief  filling 
its  crown ;  induced  to  give  over  his  acquiescent 
iteration,  «  Yes,  sah  !  Yes,  sah  !  jes'  ez  you  say  !  " 
regardless  of  the  significance  of  the  question ;  and 


THE    STORM   CENTRE  323 

at  last  fairly  launched  on  the  rendering  of  his 
testimony.  The  prosecution,  however,  soon 
thought  he  was  no  such  fool  as  he  seemed,  for 
the  details  of  the  earlier  sojourn  of  Julius  had 
a  simplicity  that  was  coercive  of  credence. 
The  old  servant  stated,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
prime  importance,  that  he  had  to  feed  him  in  the 
salad-bowl.  He  "das'ent  fetch  Marse  Julius  a 
plate  'kase  de  widder  'oman,  dat's  Miss  Leonora, 
nought  miss  it.  But  he  didn't  keer,  little  Julius 
didn't," — then  to  explain  the  familiarity  of 
the  address  he  stated  that  "  Julius  de  youngest 
ob  Marster's  chillen  —  de  Baby-chile."  Old  Eph- 
raim  repeated  this  expression  often,  thinking 
it  mitigated  the  fall  from  political  grace  which 
he  himself  had  suffered,  because  of  the  leniency 
which  must  be  shown  to  a  "Baby-chile."  And 
now  and  then,  at  first,  the  court-martial,  though 
far  from  lacking  in  brainy  endowment  and 
keen  perception,  were  at  sea  to  understand  that 
the  "  Baby-chile "  would  have  been  allowed  to 
smoke  a  seegar,  —  he  being  "  plumb  desper 
ate  "  for  tobacco,  —  except  so  anxious  was  Judge 
Roscoe  to  avoid  attracting  the  suspicion  of  Cap 
tain  Baynell,  who  would  "  have  tuk  little  Julius 
in  quick  as  a  dog  snappin'  at  a  fly !  Yes  — 
sah  —  yes  —  Cap'n,"  with  a  deprecatory  side 
glance  at  Baynell.  "  De  Baby-chile  couldn't  even 
dare  to  smoke,  fur  fear  de  Cap'n  mought  smell  it 
from  out  de  garret.  De  Baby-chile  wanted  a  see- 
gar  so  bad  he  sont  his  Pa  forty  messages  a  day. 


i 

324  THE   STORM  CENTRE 

But  his  Pa  didn't  allow  him  ter  light  one  —  not 
one ;  he  jes'  gnawed  the  e-end." 

It  required,  too,  some  mental  readjustment  to 
recognize  the  "  Baby-chile "  in  the  young  Sam 
son,  who  had  almost  carried  off  the  gates  of  the 
town  itself,  the  key  of  the  whole  department,  on 
his  stalwart  back.  This  phrase  was  even  more 
frequently  repeated  as  Uncle  Ephraim  entered 
upon  the  details  of  Julius's  escape  and  his  at 
tack  on  Baynell  —  it  seemed  to  mitigate  the 
intensity  with  which  he  played  at  the  game  of 
war  to  speak  of  it  as  the  freaks  of  a  "  Baby- 
chile." 

The  witness  could  produce  no  replies  to  the 
question,  and  indeed  he  had  no  recollection, 
as  to  how  Julius  Roscoe  became  possessed  of 
the  facts  concerning  the  works,  for  old  Ephraim 
did  not  realize  that  he  himself  had  afforded 
this  information  —  acquired  in  aimlessly  tagging 
after  the  detail  sent  for  ammunition,  the  negroes 
coming  and  going  with  scant  restriction  in  the 
camps  of  their  liberators.  But  very  careful  was 
he  to  let  fall  no  word  of  the  citizen's  dress  he 
had  conveyed  to  the  "  Baby-chile  "  in  the  grotto, 
under  cover  of  night. 

"  Bress  Gawd  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  it's  de 
Cap'n  on  trial  —  not  me  !  " 

He  detailed  with  great  candor  the  lies  he  had 
told  Captain  Baynell,  when,  emerging  from  his 
long  insensibility,  he  had  asked  about  the  Rebel 
officer.  "  It  was  a  dream,"  the  witness  had  told 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  325 

"  Cap'n."  In  Captain  Baynell's  earlier  illness  he 
had  often  been  delirious,  and  it  had  amused  him 
when  he  recovered  to  hear  the  quaint  things  he 
had  said  ;  sometimes  "  Cap'n  "  himself  described 
to  Judge  Roscoe  or  to  the  surgeon  the  queer 
sights  he  had  seen,  the  results  of  the  morphine 
administered.  So  in  this  instance  he  had  hardly 
seemed  surprised,  but  had  let  it  pass  like  the  rest. 

Uncle  Ephraim  did  not  vary  these  statements 
in  any  degree,  not  even  under  the  ordeal  of  cross- 
examination.  Indeed,  he  stood  this  remarkably 
well  and  left  the  impression  he  had  made  un 
impaired.  But  when  he  was  told  that  he  might 
stand  aside,  and  it  entered  into  his  comprehen 
sion  that  the  phrase  meant  that  he  might  leave 
the  room,  he  fairly  chirped  with  glee  and  obvious 
relief. 

"  Thankee,  Marse  Gen'al ! "  he  said  to  the 
youngest  member  of  the  court,  a  captain,  to 
whom  he  had  persisted  in  addressing  most  of 
his  replies,  and  had  continuously  promoted  to 
the  rank  of  general,  as  if  this  high  station 
obviously  best  accorded  with  the  young  officer's 
deserts. 

Old  Ephraim  scuttled  off  to  the  door,  stum 
bling  and  hirpling  in  his  haste  and  agitation,  and 
it  had  not  closed  on  him,  when  his  "  Bress  de 
Lawd !  he  done  delivered  me  f'om  dem  dat 
would  have  devoured  me ! "  resounded  through 
the  room. 

There  was  a  laugh  outside  —  somebody  in  the 


326  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

corridor  opined  that  the  court-martial  wanted 
no  such  tough  old  morsel,  but  not  a  smile 
touched  the  serious  faces  on  each  side  of  the 
table,  and  the  next  witness  was  summoned. 

This  was  Mrs.  Gwynn.  She  produced  an  effect 
of  sober  elegance  in  her  dress  of  gray  barege, 
wearing  a  simple  hat  of  lacelike  straw  of  the 
same  tint,  with  velvet  knots  of  a  darker  gray, 
on  her  beautiful  golden-brown  hair.  The  court- 
martial,  guaranteed  to  have  no  heart,  had,  as  far 
as  perceptible  impression  was  concerned,  no  eyes. 
They  looked  stolidly  at  her  as,  with  a  swift  and 
adaptive  intelligence,  she  complied  with  the  for 
malities,  and  her  testimony  was  under  way. 

So  youthful,  so  girlish  and  fair  of  face,  so 
sylphlike  in  form  was  she,  that  her  appearance 
was  of  far  more  significance  in  their  estimation 
than  their  apparent  lack  of  appreciation  might 
betoken.  More  than  one  who  had  begun  to  in 
cline  to  the  views  of  the  prosecution  thought 
that  he  beheld  here  the  influence  which  had 
fostered  treason  and  brought  a  fine  officer  to  a 
forgetfulness  of  his  oath,  a  disregard  of  his  duty, 
and  the  destruction  of  every  value  of  life  and 
every  consolation  of  death. 

Her  manner,  however,  was  not  that  of  a  siren. 
All  the  incongruities  of  her  aspect  were  specially 
pronounced  as  she  sat  in  the  clear  light  of  the 
window  and  looked  steadfastly  at  each  querist 
in  turn,  so  soberly,  so  earnestly,  with  so  little 
consciousness  of  her  beauty,  that  it  seemed  in 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  327 

something  to  lack,  as  if  a  more  definite  aplomb 
and  intention  of  display  could  enhance  the 
fact. 

Apparently  it  was  a  conclusive  testimony  that 
she  was  giving,  for  it  was  presently  developed 
that  she  did  not  know  that  Julius  Roscoe  was 
in  the  house ;  that  she  herself  had  suggested  to 
Captain  Baynell  to  go  in  search  of  a  book  up  the 
stairs  to  his  hiding-place,  from  which  there  was 
no  other  mode  of  egress;  that  in  less  than  two 
minutes  she  heard  Captain  Baynell's  loud  excla 
mations  of  surprise,  and  the  words  in  his  voice, 
very  quick  and  decisive — "  You  are  my  prisoner  !  " 
twice  repeated.  She  had  rushed  to  the  door  of 
the  hall  to  hear  a  crash  as  of  a  fall,  and  she 
saw  the  balustrade  of  the  staircase,  which  was 
the  same  structure  throughout  the  three  stories, 
shaking,  as  Julius  Roscoe,  covered  with  blood, 
dashed  by  her  and  out  into  the  balcony.  She 
knew  that  Baynell  was  delirious  subsequently, 
and  that  he  was  kept  in  ignorance  as  to  what 
had  occasioned  his  fall. 

There  was  a  degree  of  discomfiture  on  the  part 
of  the  prosecution.  It  was  not  that  the  judge- 
advocate  was  specially  bloody-minded  or  vindic 
tive.  He  had  a  part  to  play,  and  it  behooved  him 
to  play  it  well.  It  would  seem  that  if  the  prose 
cution  broke  down  on  so  obvious  and  simple 
a  case,  which  had  been  the  nucleus  of  so  much 
disaster,  blame  might  attach  to  him,  by  the  mere 
accident  of  his  position.  These  reflections  ren- 


328  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

dered  him  ingenious,  and  with  the  license  of 
cross-examination  he  began  with  personalities. 

"  You  have  stated  that  you  are  a  widow  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  am  the  widow  of  Rufus  Allerton 
Gwynn." 

"  You  do  not  wear  widow's  weeds  ?  " 

"No.     I  have  laid  them  aside." 

"  In  contemplation  of  matrimony  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Is  not  the  accused  your  accepted  suitor  ?  " 

«  No." 

Baynell  was  looking  down  at  a  paper  in  his 
hand.  His  eyelids  flickered,  then  he  looked  up 
steadily,  with  a  face  of  quiet  attention. 

A  member  of  the  court  preferred  the  demand : — 

"  Was  he  ever  a  suitor  for  your  hand  ?  " 

"  Yes."  Her  face  had  flushed,  but  she  kept 
her  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  the  questioner. 

The  president  of  the  court  cleared  his  throat 
as  if  minded  to  speak.  Then  obviously  with  the 
view  of  avoiding  misunderstandings  as  to  dates 
he  formulated  the  query :  "  Was  this  recent  ? 
May  I  ask  when  you  declined  his  proposal  ? " 

"  I  am  not  certain  of  the  date,"  she  replied. 
"  It  was  —  let  me  think  —  it  was  the  evening  of 
a  day  when  the  neighborhood  sewing-circle  met 
at  my  uncle's  house.  I  remember,  now  —  it  was 
the  sixth  of  May." 

"  Did  Captain  Baynell  attend  the  meeting  of 
the  sewing-circle?"  —  the  judge-advocate  per 
mitted  himself  an  edge  of  satire. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  329 

"He  was  present,  and  Colonel  Ashley,  and 
Lieutenant  Seymour." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  judge-advocate,  at  a  loss. 

At  a  loss  and  doubtful,  but  encouraged.  To 
his  mind  she  offered  the  key  to  the  situation. 
Keenly  susceptible  to  feminine  influence  himself, 
he  fancied  he  could  divine  its  effect  on  another 
man.  He  proceeded  warily,  reducing  his  ques 
tion  to  writing,  while  on  various  faces  ranged 
about  the  table  appeared  a  shade  of  doubt  and 
even  reprobation  of  the  tone  he  was  taking. 

"  You  have  laid  aside  the  insignia  of  mourn 
ing  —  yet  you  do  not  contemplate  matrimony. 
You  are  very  young." 

"I  am  twenty-three  —  as  I  have  already  stated." 

"  You  may  live  a  long  time.  You  may  live 
to  grow  old.  You  propose  to  live  alone  the  re 
mainder  of  your  days.  Did  you  tell  Captain 
Baynell  that?" 

"  In  effect,  yes." 

Her  face  had  grown  crimson,  then  paled,  then 
the  color  came  again  in  patches.  But  her  voice 
did  not  falter,  and  she  looked  at  her  interlocutor 
with  an  admirable  steadiness.  The  president 
again  cleared  his  throat  as  if  about  to  speak. 
The  shade  of  disapprobation  deepened  on  the 
listening  faces. 

The  judge-advocate  leaned  forward,  wrote 
swiftly,  then  read  in  a  tantalizing  tone,  as  of  one 
who  has  a  clincher  in  reserve :  — 

"Now  was  not  that  a  mere  feminine  subter- 


330  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

fuge  ?  You  know  you  could  hardly  be  sure  that 
you  will  never  marry  again  —  at  your  age." 

Once  more  the  president  cleared  his  throat, 
but  he  spoke  this  time. 

"  Do  you  desire  to  push  this  line  of  investiga 
tion  farther  ?  "  he  said,  objection  eloquent  in  his 
deep,  full  voice. 

"  One  moment,  sir."  The  judge-advocate  had 
been  feeling  his  way  very  cautiously,  but  he  was 
flustered  by  the  interruption,  and  he  was  con 
scious  that  he  put  his  next  question  less  adroitly 
than  he  had  intended. 

"  Why  are  you  so  sure,  if  I  may  ask  ?  " 

There  was  a  tense  silence.  She  said  to  herself 
that  this  was  no  time  or  place  for  finical  delicacy. 
A  man's  life,  his  honor,  all  he  held  dear,  were  in 
jeopardy,  and  it  had  fallen  to  her  to  say  words 
that  must  needs  affect  the  result.  She  answered 
steadily.  "  My  reply  to  Captain  Baynell  was 
not  actuated  by  any  objections  to  him.  I  know 
nothing  of  him  but  what  is  greatly  to  his  credit." 
She  hesitated  for  a  moment.  She  had  grown 
very  white,  and  her  eyes  glittered,  but  her  voice 
was  still  firm  as  she  went  on :  — 

"There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  speak 
freely  under  these  circumstances,  for  every  one 
knows  —  every  one  who  is  cognizant  of  our  family 
affairs — that  my  married  life  was  extremely 
wretched.  I  was  very  unhappy,  and  I  told  Cap 
tain  Baynell  that  I  would  never  marry  again." 

Dead   silence  reigned  for  a   moment.      They 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  331 

had  all  heard  the  story  of  her  hard  fate.  The 
discussion  as  to  whether  a  chair  had  been  merely 
broken  over  her  head,  or  she  had  been  dragged 
about  her  home  one  woful  midnight  by  the 
masses  of  her  beautiful  hair,  was  insistently  sug 
gested  as  the  sunlight  lay  athwart  it  now,  and 
the  breeze  moved  its  tendrils  caressingly.  The 
eyes  of  the  court-martial  looked  at  the  judge- 
advocate  with  fiery  reproach,  and  the  heart  of 
the  court-martial  beat  for  her  for  the  moment 
with  chivalric  partisanship. 

For  the  first  time  Baynell  seemed  to  lose  his 
composure.  His  face  was  scarlet,  his  hands 
trembled.  He  was  biting  his  under  lip  violently 
in  an  effort  at  self-control ;  he  was  experiencing 
an  agony  of  sympathy  and  regret  that  this  should 
be  forced  upon  her,  of  helpless  fury  that  he  could 
be  of  no  avail. 

Still  once  more  the  president  cleared  his  throat, 
this  time  peremptorily.  The  judge-advocate,  con 
siderably  out  of  countenance,  hastily  forestalled 
him,  that  he  might  justify  his  course  by  bringing 
out  the  point  he  desired  to  elicit,  reading  his 
question  aloud  for  its  submission  to  the  court, 
though  her  last  reply  had  rendered  his  clincher 
of  little  force. 

"Did  you  say  to  Captain  Baynell  that  you 
have  no  intention  of  marrying  again  merely  as 
a  subterfuge  —  to  soften  the  blow,  because  you 
expect  to  marry  Lieutenant  Roscoe  as  soon  as 
the  war  is  over  ?  " 


332  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

His  suspicion  that  Baynell  had  been  accessory 
to  the  concealment  of  young  Roscoe  so  long  as 
he  did  not  fear  him  as  a  rival  was  evident. 
Baynell  turned  suddenly  and  stared  with  startled 
eyes  in  which  an  amazed  dismay  contended  with 
futile  anger  that  this,  —  such  a  motive  —  such 
a  course  of  action,  could  be  attributed  to  him. 

She  replied  only  to  the  obvious  question,  evi 
dently  not  realizing  the  implication.  The  ten 
sion  was  over ;  her  color  had  returned ;  her  voice 
was  casual. 

"No.  I  have  no  thought  of  marrying  Lieu 
tenant  Roscoe." 

"  Has  he  asked  you  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  Long  ago,  —  when  he  was  a  mere  boy." 

"  And  again  since  your  widowhood  ?  " 

"No." 

"  You  have  seen  him  since  ?  " 

"  Only  that  morning  when  he  rushed  past  me 
in  the  hall,"  she  replied,  not  apprehending  the 
trend  of  his  questions. 

"  Captain  Baynell  must  have  had  some  reason 
to  think  you  would  marry  him,  or  he  would  not 
have  asked  you.  You  rejected  him  one  evening. 
The  next  morning  he  arrested  Lieutenant  Roscoe, 
who  had  been  in  hiding  in  the  house,  —  was  there 
some  understanding  between  you  and  Captain 
Baynell,  —  had  he  earlier  forborne  this  arrest  in 
the  expectation  of  your  consent,  and  was  the 
arrest  made  in  revenge  on  a  rival  whom  he 
fancied  a  successful  suitor  ?  " 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  333 

She  looked  at  the  judge-advocate  with  a  horri 
fied  amazement  eloquent  on  her  face. 

«  No  !  No  !  Oh,"  she  cried  in  a  poignant  voice, 
"if  you  knew  Captain  Baynell,  you  could  riot, 
you  would  not,  advance  such  implications  against 
him,  —  who  is  the  very  soul  of  honor." 

The  judge-advocate  was  again  for  an  instant 
out  of  countenance. 

«  You  thought  so  little  of  him  yourself  as  to 
reject  his  addresses,"  he  said  by  way  of  recov- 
ing  himself. 

She  was  absorbed  in  the  importance  of  the 
crisis.  She  did  not  realize  the  effect  of  her 
words  until  after  she  had  uttered  them. 

« I  did  not  appreciate  his  character  then," 
she  said  simply. 

Once  more  there  was  an  interval  of  tense  and 
significant  silence.  Baynell,  suddenly  pale  to  the 
lips,  lifted  startled  eyes  as  if  he  sought  to  assure 
himself  that  he  had  heard  aright.  Then  he  bent 
his  gaze  on  the  paper  in  his  hand. 

Mrs.  Gwynn,  tremulous  with  excitement,  ap 
preciated  a  moment  later  the  inadvertent  and 
personal  admission,  and  a  burning  flush  sprang 
into  her  cheeks.  The  judge-advocate  took  instant 
advantage  of  her  loss  of  poise. 

«I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  that  — 
that  you  would  not  reject  him  again  ?  Will 
you  explain  ? "  he  read  his  question  with  a 
twinkling  eye  that  nettled  and  harassed  her. 

A  member  of  the  court-martial  objected  to  the 


334  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

interrogation  as  "  frivolous  and  unnecessary,"  and 
therefore  it  was  not  addressed  to  the  witness. 
A  pause  ensued. 

The  brevet  brigadier  cleared  his  throat. 

"Have  you  concluded  this  line  of  investiga 
tion  ? "  he  said  to  the  judge-advocate,  for  the 
prosecution  was  obviously  breaking  down. 

"  I  believe  we  are  about  through,"  said  the 
judge-advocate,  vacuously,  looking  at  a  list  in  his 
hand,  "that  is" — to  the  accused — "if  you  have 
no  questions  to  put  in  reexamination."  And  as 
Mrs.  Gwynn  was  permitted  to  depart  from  the 
room,  he  still  busied  himself  with  his  list. 
"  Three  names,  yet.  These  are  the  children,  sir." 

Every  member  of  the  household  of  Judge 
Roscoe  was  summoned  as  a  witness  for  the 
defence,  to  seek  to  establish  Baynell's  innocence 
in  these  difficult  circumstances,  even  the  little 
girls,  and  indeed  otherwise  the  prosecution  would 
have  subpoenaed  them  on  the  theory  that  if  there 
were  any  treachery,  the  children  had  not  the 
artifice  to  conceal  it.  So  far  this  testimony 
was  unequivocal.  Judge  Roscoe  had  sworn  to 
the  simple  facts  and  the  measures  taken  to 
avoid  the  notice  of  the  Federal  officer.  Uncle 
Ephraim's  testimony,  save  for  the  withheld  epi 
sode  of  the  grotto,  the  exact  truth,  was  corrobora 
tive,  but  suffered  somewhat  from  his  reputation 
for  wearing  two  faces,  his  sobriquet  of  "  Janus  " 
being  adduced  by  the  prosecution.  Mrs.  Gwynn 
had  affirmed  that  she  herself  did  not  know  or 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  335 

suspect  the  presence  of  Julius  in  the  house, 
so  completely  was  he  held  perdu.  The  agitated 
little  twins,  each  examined  as  to  her  knowledge 
of  the  obligations  of  an  oath  and  sworn,  sepa 
rately  testified  in  curiously  clipped,  suppressed 
voices  that  they  knew  nothing,  heard  nothing, 
saw  nothing  of  Julius  Roscoe  in  the  house. 

In  the  face  of  this  unanimity  it  seemed  impos 
sible  to  prove  aught  save  that  in  one  of  those 
hazardous  visits  home,  so  dear  to  the  rash  young 
Southern  soldiers,  the  father  had  taken  successful 
precautions  to  defeat  suspicion ;  and  the  Confed 
erate  officer  had  shown  great  adroitness  in  car 
rying  out  the  plan  of  his  campaign  which  his 
observations  inside  the  lines  had  suggested. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  trial  Captain  Baynell  was 
beginning  to  breathe  more  freely,  all  the  testimony 
having  been  taken  except  the  necessarily  formal 
questioning  of  the  dumb  child.  As  she  was 
sworn  and  interrogated,  one  of  the  other  children, 
sworn  anew  for  the  purpose,  acted  as  her  inter 
preter,  being  more  accustomed  than  the  elders  to 
the  use  of  the  manual  alphabet.  The  court-room 
was  interested  in  the  quaint  situation.  The 
aspect  of  the  two  little  children,  in  their  white 
summer  attire,  in  this  incongruous  environment, 
with  their  tiny  hands  lifted  in  signalling  to  each 
other,  their  eyes  shining  with  excitement,  touched 
the  spectators  to  smiles  and  a  stir  of  pleasant 
sympathy.  Now  and  then  Geraldine's  silvery 
treble  faltered  while  repeating  the  question,  to 


336  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

demonstrate  her  comprehension  of  it,  and  she 
desisted  from  her  task  to  gaze  in  blue-eyed  wonder 
over  her  shoulder  at  the  crowd.  The  deaf-mute 
was  passed  over  cursorily  by  the  defence,  only 
summoned  in  fact  that  no  one  of  the  household 
might  be  omitted  or  seem  feared.  Suddenly  one 
of  the  members  of  the  court  asked  a  question 
in  cross-examination.  In  civil  life  this  officer, 
a  colonel  of  volunteers,  had  been  an  aurist  of 
some  note  and  the  physician  in  attendance  in  a 
deaf-and-dumb  asylum.  He  was  a  portly,  robust 
man,  whose  prematurely  gray  hair  and  mustache 
were  at  variance  with  his  florid  complexion  and 
his  bright,  still  youthful,  dark  eyes.  He  had  a 
manner  peculiarly  composed,  bland,  yet  com 
manding.  He  leaned  forward  abruptly  on  the 
table ;  with  an  intent,  questioning  gaze  he  caught 
the  child's  eyes  as  she  stood  lounging  against  the 
tall  witness-chair.  Then  as  he  lifted  his  hands 
it  was  obvious  that  he  was  far  more  expert  in 
the  manual  alphabet  than  Geraldine.  In  three 
minutes  it  was  evident  to  the  assembled  mem 
bers  of  the  court-martial  on  each  side  of  the 
long  table,  the  president  at  its  head,  the  judge- 
advocate  at  its  foot,  that  the  line  of  communica 
tion  was  as  perfect  as  if  both  spoke.  Delighted 
to  meet  a  stranger  who  could  converse  fluently 
with  her,  the  child's  blue  eyes  glittered,  her  cheek 
flushed ;  she  was  continually  laughing  and  toss 
ing  back  the  curls  of  her  rich  chestnut  hair,  as 
if  she  wished  to  be  free  of  its  weight  while  she 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  337 

gave  every  capacity  to  this  matter.  And  yet  in 
her  youth,  her  innocence,  her  inexperience,  she 
knew  naught  of  the  ultimate  significance  of  the 
detail. 

It  was  an  evidence  of  the  degree  to  which  she 
was  isolated  by  her  infirmity,  how  slight  was 
her  participation  in  the  subtler  interests  of  the 
life  about  her,  that  she  had  no  remote  concep 
tion  of  the  intents  and  results  of  the  investiga 
tion.  Even  her  curiosity  was  manacled  —  it 
stretched  no  grasp  for  the  fact.  She  did  not 
question.  She  did  not  dream  that  it  concerned 
Captain  Baynell.  She  had  no  idea  that  trouble 
had  fallen  upon  him.  Tears  to  her  expressed 
woe,  or  a  visage  of  sadness,  or  the  environment 
of  poverty  or  physical  hurt  —  but  this  bright 
room,  with  its  crowd  of  intent  spectators;  this 
splendid  array  of  uniformed  men  of  an  august 
aspect ;  her  own  friend,  Captain  Baynell,  present, 
himself  in  full  regimentals,  calm,  composed, 
quiet,  as  was  his  wont,  looking  over  a  paper  in 
his  hand  —  how  was  the  restricted  creature  to 
imagine  that  this  was  the  arena  of  a  life-and- 
death  conflict. 

"  Yes  ! "  the  little  waxen-white  fingers  flashed 
forth.  "Yes,  indeed,  she  had  known  that 
Soldier-Boy  was  in  the  house.  That  was 
Julius!" 

She  gave  the  military  salute  with  her  accus 
tomed  grace  and  spirit,  lifting  her  hand  to  the 
brim  of  her  hat,  and  looked  laughing  along  the 


338  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

line  of  stern,  bearded  faces  and  military  figures 
on  either  side  of  the  long  table. 

The  other  "ladies"  did  not  know  that  Soldier- 
Boy  was  there,  though  they  saw  him,  and  she 
saw  him,  too !  It  was  in  the  library,  and  it  was 
just  about  dusk.  They  were  surprised,  and 
came  and  told  the  family  that  they  had  seen  a 
ghost.  They  knew  no  better !  They  were  young 
and  they  were  little.  They  were  only  six,  the 
twins,  and  she  was  eight ;  a  great  girl  indeed ! 

Once  more  she  tossed  back  her  hair,  and,  with 
her  eyes  intent  from  under  the  wide  Leghorn 
brim  of  her  hat,  bedecked  with  bows  of  a  broad 
white  ribbon  with  fluffy  fringed  edges,  she 
watched  his  white  military  gauntlets,  uplifted  as 
he  asked  the  next  question  on  his  slow  fingers. 

How  her  own  swiftly  flickered ! 

Yes,  indeed,  she  had  told  the  family  better. 
It  was  no  ghost,  but  only  Soldier-Boy !  She  had 
told  Captain  Baynell.  She  wanted  him  to  see 
Soldier-Boy.  He  was  beautiful  —  the  most  beau 
tiful  member  of  the  family  ! 

Oh,  yes,  Baynell  knew  he  was  in  the  house. 
She  had  told  him  by  her  sign.  When  she  had 
first  shown  him  Soldier-Boy's  fine  portrait,  they 
had  told  him  what  she  meant. 

No  !  Captain  Baynell  had  not  forgotten  !  For 
when  she  said  it  was  no  ghost,  but  Soldier-Boy, 
Cousin  Leonora  cried  out,  "  Oh,  she  means  Julius ; 
that  is  her  sign  for  him  ! "  Cousin  Leonora  did 
not  use  the  manual  alphabet ;  she  read  the  mo- 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  339 

tion  of  her  lips.  None  of  them  used  the  alphabet 
except  a  little  bit ;  Soldier-Boy  the  best  of  all. 

Throughout  there  was  a  continual  ripple  of 
excitement  among  the  members  and  several 
heads  were  dubiously  shaken.  More  than  once 
Baynell's  counsel  sought  to  interpose  an  objec 
tion,  —  mindful  of  the  preposterous  restrictions 
of  his  position,  swiftly  writing  his  views,  trans 
mitted,  as  if  he  himself  were  dumb,  through  the 
prisoner  to  the  judge-advocate  and  by  him  to  the 
court.  The  testimony  of  the  witness  could  not 
be  legally  taken  this  way,  he  insisted,  merely  by 
the  repetition  of  what  she  had  said,  by  a  member 
of  the  court-martial  for  the  benefit  of  the  rest. 

The  peculiar  petulance  of  those  who  lack  a 
sense  was  manifested  in  the  acrimony  which 
shone  in  the  child's  eyes  as  she  perceived  that  he 
sought  to  restrict  and  repress  her  statement  of 
her  views.  When  he  ventured  himself  to  ask 
her  a  question,  having  some  knowledge  of  the 
manual  alphabet,  she  merely  gazed  at  his  awk 
ward  gesticulations  with  an  expression  of  polite 
tolerance,  making  no  attempt  to  answer,  then  cast 
up  her  eyes,  as  who  should  say,  «  Saw  ever  any 
body  the  like  of  that !  "  and  catching  the  intent 
gaze  of  the  brigadier,  she  burst  into  a  sly  coquet 
tish  ripple  of  laughter  that  had  all  the  effect  of 
a  roguish  aside.  Then,  turning  to  the  ex-surgeon, 
her  fingers  flickered  forth  the  hope  that  he  would 
come  and  see  her  and  talk.  When  the  war  was 
over,  she  was  going  back  to  school  where  she 


340  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

had  learned  the  manual   alphabet,  —  there,   al 
though  dumb,  they  talked  much. 

The  mention  of  the  word  "  school "  suggested 
an  idea  which  obviated  the  difficulty  as  to  how 
this  extraordinary  testimony  could  be  put  into 
such  shape  as  to  render  it  available,  impervious 
to  cavil,  strictly  in  accordance  with  precedent  in 
the  case  of  witnesses  who  are  «  mute  by  the  visi 
tation  of  God."  The  cross-examiner  asked  her  if 
she  could  write.  How  she  tossed  her  head  in 
pride  and  scorn  of  the  question !  Write  —  of 
course  she  could  write.  Cousin  Leonora  had 
taught  her. 

When  she  was  placed  in  a  chair,  and  mounted 
on  a  great  book  beside  the  judge-advocate  — 
looking  like  a  learned  mushroom  under  her  big 
white  hat,  her  white  flounced  skirts  fluttering 
out,  her  long  white  hose  and  slippered  feet 
dangling  —  he  wrote  the  questions  and  accom 
modated  her  with  a  blotting-pad  and  pen,  and  it 
may  be  doubted  if  ever  hitherto  a  small  bunch 
of  fabric  and  millinery  contained  so  much  vain 
glory.  In  truth  the  triumph  atoned  for  many 
a  soundless  day  —  to  note  the  surprise  on  his 
solemn  visage,  between  his  Burnside  whiskers,  as 
she  glanced  covertly  up  into  his  face,  watching 
the  effect  of  her  first  answer,  five  or  six  lines 
of  clear,  round  handwriting,  sensibly  expressed, 
and  perfectly  spelled.  She  wrote  much  the  more 
legibly  of  the  two,  and  once  there  occurred  a  break 
when  one  of  the  members  of  the  court  asked  a 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  341 

question  in  writing,  and  she  was  constrained  to 
put  one  hand  before  her  face  to  laugh  gleefully, 
for  one  of  his  capital  letters  was  so  bad  —  she 
was  great  on  capitals  —  that  she  must  needs  ask 
what  was  meant  by  it. 

Baynell,  in  reexamination,  himself  wrote  to 
ask  what  he  had  said  when  he  was  told  that 
the  ghost  in  the  library  was  Julius  Roscoe. 

"  Nothing,"  she  wrote  in  answer,  all  unaware 
how  she  was  destroying  him.  "  Nothing  at  all. 
You  just  looked  at  me  and  then  looked  at  Cousin 
Leonora.  But  Grandpa  said,  <  Oh,  fie  !  oh,  fie ! ' 
all  the  time." 

Thus  the  extraordinary  testimony  was  taken. 
The  paper,  with  her  answers  in  her  round  child 
ish  characters  and  flourishing  capitals,  all  as 
plain  as  print  and  exhibiting  a  thorough  compre 
hension  of  what  she  was  asked,  was  handed  to 
each  of  the  members  of  the  court-martial,  here 
and  there  eliciting  a  murmur  of  surprise  at  her 
proficiency.  The  prosecution,  that  had  practi 
cally  broken  down,  now  had  the  point  of  the 
sword  at  the  throat  of  the  defence. 

There  was  naught  further  necessary  but  to 
confront  the  earlier  witnesses  with  this  episode. 
Mrs.  Gwynn,  recalled,  stared  in  amazement  for 
a  moment  as  a  question  was  put  as  to  the  sig 
nificant  event  of  the  discovery  of  a  ghost  in  the 
library,  one  afternoon.  Then  as  the  reminis 
cence  grew  clear  to  her  mind,  she  rehearsed  the 
circumstance,  stating  in  great  confusion  that  she 


342  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

had  disregarded  it  at  the  time,  and  had  forgot 
ten  it  since. 

So  unimportant,  was  it  ? 

She  had  thought  it  merely  some  folly  of  the 
children's;  they  were  always  taking  silly  little 
frights.  She  did  remember  that  she  had  told 
Captain  Baynell  once  before  that  the  military 
salute  was  the  child's  sign  for  Julius  Roscoe,  and 
that  she  had  repeated  this  information  then. 
No  —  Captain  Baynell  made  no  search  in  the 
library  where  the  supposed  ghost  was  seen,  —  no, 
—  nor  elsewhere. 

When  Mrs.  Gwynn,  under  the  stress  of  these 
revelations,  broke  down  and  burst  into  tears,  the 
eyes  of  the  members  of  the  court-martial  in 
tently  regarding  her  were  unsympathetic  eyes, 
despite  her  beauty  and  charm,  —  the  more  un 
sympathetic  because  Judge  Roscoe  had  also 
remembered  these  circumstances,  stating,  how 
ever,  that  they  had  not  alarmed  him,  for  Captain 
Baynell  evidently  did  not  understand. 

"Is  his  knowledge  of  English,  then,  so  limited?" 
he  was  ironically  asked. 

Old  Ephraim,  too,  was  able  to  recollect  the 
fact  of  the  child's  disclosure  of  the  presence  of 
Julius  Roscoe  in  the  house  to  Captain  Baynell,  — 
declaring,  though,  that  he  himself  had  hindered 
its  comprehension  by  upsetting  the  coffee  urn 
full  of  scalding  coffee,  which  he  had  just  brought 
to  the  table  where  the  group  were  sitting,  thus 
effecting  a  diversion  of  interest. 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  343 

All  the  witnesses  were  dismissed  at  last,  and 
the  final  formal  defence  was  presented  in  writ 
ing.  The  room  was  cleared  and  the  judge-advo 
cate  read  aloud  to  the  members  of  the  court  the 
proceedings  from  the  beginning.  Laboriously, 
earnestly,  impartially,  they  bent  their  minds  to 
weigh  all  the  details,  and  then  for  a  time 
they  sat  in  secluded  deliberation  —  a  long  time, 
despite  the  fact  that  the  conclusions  of  the 
majority  admitted  of  no  doubt.  Several  of  the 
members  revolted  against  the  inevitable  result, 
argued  with  vehemence,  recapitulated  all  in  Bay- 
nelPs  favor  with  the  fervor  of  eager  partisans, 
and  at  last  protested  with  a  passion  of  despair 
against  the  decision,  for  the  finding  was  adverse 
and  the  unanimity  of  two-thirds  of  the  votes 
rendered  the  penalty  death. 

The  sentence  was  of  course  kept  secret  until 
it  should  be  approved  and  formally  promulgated 
by  authority.  But  the  public  had  readily  divined 
the  result  and  anticipated  naught  from  the  revi 
sion  of  the  proceedings. 

Suspense  is  itself  a  species  of  calamity.  It 
has  all  the  poignant  acuteness  of  hope  without 
the  buoyancy  of  a  sustained  expectation,  and  all 
the  anguish  of  despair  without  its  sense  of  con- 
clusiveness  and  the  surcease  of  striving.  Pend 
ing  the  review  of  the  action  of  the  court-martial 
Baynell  discovered  the  wondrous  scope  of  human 
suffering  disassociated  from  physical  pain.  He 
had  seriously  thought  he  might  die  of  his  wounded 


344  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

pride,  thus  touched  in  honor,  in  patriotism,  in  life 
itself,  and  therefore  he  was  amazed  by  the  degree 
of  solace  he  experienced  in  the  sight  of  a  woman's 
tears  shed  for  his  sake.  For  to  Leonora  Gwynn 
he  seemed  a  persecuted  martyr,  with  all  a  sol 
dier's  valor  and  a  saint's  impeccability.  No  one 
could  know  better  than  she  the  falsity  of  the 
charges  against  him,  and  in  her  resentment 
against  the  unhappy  chances  and  the  military 
law  that  had  overwhelmed  him,  and  her  abso 
lute  despair  for  his  fate,  he  enlisted  all  her 
heart.  Those  high  and  noble  qualities  which 
he  possessed  and  which  she  revered  were  elicited 
in  the  extremity  of  his  mortal  peril.  His  exact 
ing  conscientiousness;  his  steadfast  courage  on 
the  brink  of  despair ;  his  absolute  truth ;  his 
constancy  in  adversity  ;  his  strict  sense  of  justice 
which  would  not  suffer  him  to  blame  his  friends 
whose  concealments  had  wrought  his  ruin,  nor 
his  enemies  who  seemed  indeed  rancorously  zeal 
ous  in  aspersing  him  that  they  might  exculpate 
themselves  at  his  risk ;  his  lofty  sense  of  honor 
which  he  valued  more  than  life  itself,  —  all 
showed  in  genuine  proportions  in  the  bleak  un- 
idealizing  light  which  an  actual  vital  crisis  brings 
to  bear  on  the  incidents  of  personal  character. 

She  had  even  a  more  tender  sympathy  for  his 
simpler  traits,  the  filial  friendship  which  he  still 
manifested  for  Judge  Roscoe,  his  affectionate 
remembrance  of  the  little  children  of  the  house 
hold,  the  blended  pride  and  delicacy  with  which 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  345 

he  restrained  all  expression  of  the  feeling  he 
entertained  toward  her,  that  might  seem  to  seek 
to  utilize  and  magnify  her  unguarded  admissions 
on  the  witness-stand,  —  influenced,  as  he  feared, 
by  her  anxiety  lest  her  rejection  of  his  suit  should 
militate  to  his  disadvantage  in  the  estimation  of 
the  court.  In  truth,  however,  there  was  scant 
need  of  his  reserve  on  this  point,  for  she  made 
no  disguise  of  her  sentiment  toward  him.  It 
became  obvious,  not  only  to  him,  but  to  all  with 
whom  she  spoke.  Indeed,  she  would  have  mar 
ried  him  then,  that  she  might  be  near  him,  that 
she  might  share  his  calamities,  even  while  his  dis 
grace,  his  everlasting  contumely,  seemed  already 
accomplished,  and  he  had  scarcely  a  chance  for 
life  itself.  And  yet,  hardly  less  than  he,  she 
valued  those  finer  vibrations  of  chivalric  ethics 
to  which  his  every  fibre  thrilled.  "  I  know  that 
you  are  the  very  soul  of  honor,"  she  said  to  him, 
"and  that  this  certain  assurance  ought  to  be 
sufficient  to  nullify  the  stings  of  calumny,  —  but 
I  had  rather  that  you  had  died  long  ago,  that  I 
had  never  seen  you,  that  I  were  dead  myself, 
than  that  your  record  as  a  soldier,  your  probity 
as  a  man,  the  truth,  the  eternal  truth,  should 
even  be  questioned." 

Judge  Roscoe,  too,  was  infinitely  dismayed  by 
this  strange  blunder  of  circumstance,  and  flinched 
under  the  sense  of  responsibility,  of  a  breach  of 
hospitality,  albeit  unintentional,  that  his  guest 
should  incur  so  desperate  a  disaster  by  reason 


346  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

of  a  sojourn  under  his  roof.  Baynell  was  con 
strained  to  comfort  them  both,  but  in  the  hope 
to  which  he  magnanimously  affected  to  appeal 
he  had  scant  confidence  indeed. 

Even  amidst  the  turmoil  of  his  emotions  and 
the  crisis  of  his  personal  jeopardy  he  did  not 
forget  that  the  hand  that  hurled  the  bolts  of 
doom  had  been  innocent  of  cruel  intent.  "  Never 
let  her  know,"  he  warned  Judge  Roscoe,  again 
and  again.  For  although  the  testimony  of  the 
deaf-mute  must  needs  have  been  elicited,  she 
would  be  grieved  to  learn  that  she  had  wrought 
all  these  woes.  Though  literally  the  truth,  it 
had  the  deceptive  functions  of  a  lie.  It  traduced 
him.  It  convicted  him,  the  faithful  soldier,  of 
treachery.  It  hurled  him  down  from  his  honorable 
esteem,  and  he  seemed  the  basest  of  the  base, 
traitor  to  his  comrades,  false  to  his  oath,  rene 
gade  to  his  cause,  recreant  to  every  sanction 
that  can  control  a  gentleman,  and  stained  with 
blood-guiltiness  for  every  life  that  was  sacrificed 
in  the  skirmish  by  reason  of  his  secret  colloguing 
with  the  enemy. 

Nevertheless,  he  tenderly  considered  how  fright 
ful  a  shock  she  would  experience  should  she 
realize  that  it  was  she  who  had  set  this  hideous 
monster  of  falsehood  grimly  a-stalk  as  fact. 
"But  never  let  her  know!"  he  insisted  with 
an  unselfish  thoughtfulness  that  endeared  him 
the  more  to  those  who  already  loved  him.  In 
that  silent  life  of  hers,  so  much  apart,  he  would 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  347 

fain  that  not  even  a  vague  echo  of  reproach 
should  sound.  In  those  mute  thoughts,  which 
none  might  divine,  he  would  not  evoke  a  sugges 
tion  of  regret.  One  could  hardly  forecast  the 
effect,  he  urged.  A  sorrow  like  this  might  prove 
beyond  the  reach  of  reason,  of  remonstrance,  of 
consolation.  She  loved  him,  the  silent,  little 
thing!  and  he  loved  her.  Never,  never,  let  her 
know. 

And  thus,  although  in  the  storm  centre  all  else 
was  changed,  swept  with  sudden  gusts  of  tempes 
tuous  grief,  now  and  again  reverberating  with 
strange  echoes  of  tumults  beyond,  all  a-tremor  with 
terror  and  frightful  presage,  calm  still  prevailed 
in  her  restricted  little  life.  But  to  maintain  this 
placidity  was  not  without  its  special  difficulties. 
More  than  once  her  grandfather's  deep  depression 
caught  her  intelligent  attention,  and  she  would 
pause  to  gaze  wistfully,  helplessly,  sadly,  upon 
him.  Upon  discovering  Leonora  in  tears  one  day 
she  flung  herself  on  her  knees  beside  her  cousin, 
and  kissing  her  hands  wept  and  sobbed  bitterly 
in  sympathy  with  she  knew  not  what.  Some 
times  she  was  moved  to  ask  the  dreary  little 
twins  if  aught  were  amiss,  and  when  they  shook 
their  heads  in  negation,  she  promptly  signed  that 
she  did  not  believe  them.  Once  she  came  per 
ilously  near  the  solution  of  the  mystery  that 
baffled  her.  Missing  the  visits  of  Baynell,  who 
of  course  was  still  in  arrest,  she  asked  the  twins 
if  he  were  ill,  and  when  they  hysterically  pro- 


348  THE  STORM   CENTRE 

tested  that  he  was  well,  a  shadow  of  aghast  appre 
hension  hovered  over  her  face,  and  she  solemnly 
queried  if  he  were  dead. 

The  phrase,  "  Never  let  her  know,"  was  like  a 
dying  wish,  as  sacred,  as  imperative,  and  Judge 
Roscoe  hastily  interfered  to  assure  her  that  Bay- 
nell  was  indeed  alive  and  well,  and  affected 
to  rebuke  the  twins,  saying  that  they  were  get 
ting  so  dull  and. slow  in  the  manual  alphabet 
that  they  could  scarcely  answer  a  simple  ques 
tion  of  their  sister's,  and  set  them  to  spell 
ing  on  their  fingers  under  Lucille's  instruction 
the  first  stanza  of  "  The  boy  stood  on  the  burning 
deck." 

Thus  the  continued  calm  of  her  life  was  akin 
to  the  quiet  languors  of  the  sweet  summer  even 
ing  so  mutely  reddening  in  the  west,  so  softly 
changing  to  the  azure  and  silver  of  twilight,  so 
splendid  in  the  vast  diffusive  radiance  of  the 
soundless  moon.  All  the  growths  were  as  speech 
less.  The  rose  was  full  of  the  voiceless  dew. 
What  need  of  words  when  the  magnolia  buds 
burst  into  bloom  without  a  rustle.  With  a 
placid  heart  she  watched  the  echoless  march  of 
the  constellations.  The  daily  brightening  of  the 
sumptuous  season,  the  vivid  presentment  of  the 
great  pageant  of  the  distant  mountains  glowed 
noiselessly.  Amidst  this  encompassing  hush,  in 
suave  content  she  thought  out  her  inconceivable, 
unexpressed  thoughts,  with  a  smile  in  her  eyes 
and  the  seal  of  eternal  silence  on  her  lips.  For 


THE  STORM  CENTRE  349 

his  behest  was  a  sacred  charge,  —  and  she  did 
not  know,  —  she  never  knew  ! 

The  evidence  on  which  Baynell  had  been  con 
victed  and  which  had  seemed  so  conclusive  to  the 
general  court-martial,  present  during  the  testi 
mony  of  the  deaf-mute  and  its  subsequent  un 
willing  confirmation  by  the  other  witnesses  for 
the  defence,  was  not  so  decisive  on  a  calm  revi 
sion  of  the  papers.  The  doubt  remained  as  to 
how  much  he  could  be  presumed  to  understand 
from  the  peculiar  methods  of  the  dumb  child's 
disclosure  and  the  scattered  haphazard  com 
ments  of  the  household.  The  circumstances  were 
deemed  by  the  reviewing  authorities  extra  haz 
ardous,  difficult,  and  peculiar.  The  matter  hung 
for  a  time  in  abeyance,  but  at  last  the  court  was 
ordered  to  reconvene  for  the  rectification  of  cer 
tain  irregularities  in  its  proceedings,  and  for  the 
reconsideration  of  its  action  in  this  case. 

The  interval  of  time  which  had  elapsed,  with 
its  proclivity  to  annul  the  effects  of  surprise  and 
the  first  convincing  force  of  a  definite  and  irre 
futable  testimony,  had  served  to  foster  doubt,  not 
of  the  fact  itself,  but  as  to  Baynell's  comprehen 
sion  of  it.  Perhaps  the  incredulity  obviously 
entertained  in  high  quarters  rendered  certain 
members  of  the  court-martial  less  sure  of  the 
justifiability  of  their  own  conclusions.  The 
maturer  deliberation  of  the  body  accomplished 
the  amendment  of  those  points  in  the  record 
which  had  challenged  criticism,  and  the  ripened 


350  THE   STORM   CENTRE 

judgment  exercised  in  the  reconsideration  was 
manifested  in  such  modifications  of  the  view  of 
the  evidence  adduced  that,  although  several  mem 
bers  still  adhered  to  the  earlier  findings,  the 
strength  of  the  opposing  opinion  was  so  recruited 
that  a  majority  of  the  number  concurred  in  it, 
and  the  vote  resulted  in  an  acquittal. 

Hence  Captain  Baynell  had  again  the  stern 
pleasure  of  leading  his  battery  into  action.  His 
pride  never  fully  recovered  its  elasticity  after  the 
days  of  his  humiliation,  but  his  martyrdom  was 
not  altogether  without  guerdon.  His  marriage 
to  Leonora,  which  was  a  true  union  of  hearts  and 
hands,  took  place  almost  immediately.  Com 
passion,  faith,  the  admiration  of  strength  and 
courage  in  adversity,  proved  more  potent  ele 
ments  with  Leonora  Gwynn  than  her  appreci 
ation  of  the  prowess  that  stormed  the  fort. 

Beyond  his  promotion  and  a  captain's  shoulder 
straps,  Julius  Roscoe  gained  naught  by  his  signal 
victory.  Although  he  seemed  to  meet  his  disap 
pointment  in  love  jauntily  enough,  he  went 
abroad  almost  immediately  after  the  cessation 
of  hostilities  in  America,  and  still  later  attained 
distinction  as  a  soldier  of  fortune  especially  in 
the  Franco-Prussian  war.  Now  and  again  echoes 
from  those  foreign  drum-beats  penetrated  the 
tranquillities  of  the  storm  centre,  and  Lucille, 
looking  over  the  shoulders  of  the  other  two 
"  ladies,"  officiously  opening  the  evening  paper 
to  discern  some  item  perchance  of  the  absent, 


THE   STORM   CENTRE  351 

would  glance  up  elated  at  the  elders  of  the  group, 
lifting  her  hand  to  her  forehead  with  that 
spirited  military  salute,  so  expressive  of  Soldier- 
Boy. 


THE    END 


THE  COMMON  LOT 

By  ROBERT  HERRICK 
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to  avoid  seeing  k." — Bet  ton  Transcript. 


The  Queen's  Quair,  or  The  Six  Years*  Tragedy 

Bj  MAURICE  HEWLETT 
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character.  .  .  .  'The  Queen's  Quair'  is  profoundly  absorbing,  and  no  one  among  the 
novelists  of  to-day  save  Mr.  Hewlett  could  have  written  it.  No  one  else  could  have  sus 
tained  such  a  long  narrative  on  so  high  a  level  with  such  consummate  art." 

—  New  York  Tribune. 

**  No  piece  of  historical  fiction  has  so  adequately  described  the  career  of  the  unfortu 
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is  full  of  action  and  commands  undivided  attention.  Mary's  portrait  leaves  a  lasting  im 
pression." —  Boston  Budget* 


DOCTOR  TOM,  The  Coroner  of  Brett 

Bj  JOHIT  WILLIAMS  STREBTER 
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"  One  of  the  best  and  manliest  novels  that  have  appeared  in  a  year." 

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64-6i  Kttb  Arenu.,  Hew  York 


THE  CROSSING 

By  WINSTON  CHURCHILL 
Author  of  "  Richard  Carvel,"  '« The  Crisis,"  etc. 

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—  The  Dial. 

"  Mr.  Churchill's  romance  fills  in  a  gap  which  history  has  been  unable  to  span,  that 
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and  dark  and  inanimate."  —  Mr.  HORACE  R.  HUDSON  in  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


WHOSOEVER  SHALL  OFFEND 

By  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD 
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and  after 

vertiser. 


THE  QUEST  OF  JOHN  CHAPMAN 

THE  STORY  OF  A  FORGOTTEN  HERO 

By  NEWELL  DWIGHT  HILLIS,  D.D. 
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—  hence  its  strength  and  vitality.  — Montreal  Daily  Star. 

"  No  practised  technist  takes  hold  of  his  reader's  interest  with  a  prompter  or  surer  grip 
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THE  TWO  CAPTAINS 

A  STORY  OP  BONAPARTE  AND  NELSON 

By  CYRUS  TOWNSEND  BRADY 
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The  action  takes  place  in  the  years  1793  and  1798.  The  historic  incidents  centre  around 
the  siege  of  Toulon  in  Southern  France  in  1793,  in  which  General  Bonaparte  first  attracts 
the  attention  of  the  world  to  his  genius;  and  the  epoch-marking  Battle  of  the  Nile  in  the 
Bay  of  Aboukir,  in  Egypt,  in  1798,  in  which  Admiral  Nelson  forever  shatters  the  French 
man's  dream  of  empire  in  the  East.  The  story  revolves  around  the  love  of  Captain  Rob 
ert  Macartney,  an  Irishman  who  is  an  officer  in  the  English  Navy  under  Nelson,  and  Louise 
de  Vaud^mont,  granddaughter  of  Vice-Admiral  de  Vaud<5mont,  a  great  Royalist  noble  and 
officer  of  the  old  Navy  of  France  before  the  Revolution.  One  of  the  leading  characters  is 
Bre'bceuf,  a  silent  Breton  sailor  —  he  does  not  speak  a  dozen  words  in  the  whole  story  — 
who  interferes  at  critical  points  to  promote  the  welfare  of  the  young  lovers  in  most  strik 
ing  and  unconventional  ways.  The  coast  of  Provence,  the  land  of  the  minstrel  and  the 
troubadour,  the  city  of  Toulon,  grim-walled,  cannon-circled,  the  blue  waters  of  the  Medi 
terranean,  the  great  ships-of-the-line,  the  sandy  shores  of  Egypt,  the  ancient  city  of  Alex 
andria,  the  palace  of  the  Khedive,  the  Bay  of  Aboukir,  are  the  successive  settings  of  the 
dramatic  story.  General  Bonaparte  and  Admiral  Nelson  both  take  prominent  parts  in  the 
romancef  and  the  characters  of  these  fascinating  men  are  described  with  fidelity,  accuracy, 
and  brilliancy. 

THE  SECRET  WOMAN 

By  EDEN  PHILLPOTTS 
Author  of  "  The  American  Prisoner,"  "  My  Devon  Year,"  etc. 

Cloth  i2mo  $1.50 

Rude  and  romantic  characters,  descriptions  of  lonely  and  picturesque  Devonshire 
scenery,  and  a  simple  plot  in  which  love  and  passion  play  strong  parts,  are  part  of  the 
secret  of  Mr.  Eden  Phillpotts'  very  strong  hold  on  the  public.  Slow-acting  and  slow- 
speaking  but  deep-feeling  peasants  play  their  parts  in  each  drama  amid  a  character 
istically  wild  but  sympathetic  environment.  The  present  powerful  story  shows  the  author 
at  his  best.  The  real  tragedy  is  not  in  the  actual  murder  and  in  the  shadow  of  the  gal 
lows,  but  in  the  moral  situation  and  the  intense,  engrossing  moral  struggle.  Despite 
certain  faults,  each  character  in  the  story  is  of  high  mind  and  purpose,  unselfish  and 
deserving  of  respect.  What  might  else  be  a  gloomy  theme  is  relieved  by  the  minor  char 
acters.  The  talk  of  the  Devonshire  rustics  is  amusing,  and  every  minor  figure  in  the 
book  is  a  distinct,  true-to-nature  character.  The  descriptions  of  external  nature  are  done 
with  feeling  and  knowledge;  in  this  field  no  other  living  romancer  equals  Mr.  Phillpotts. 
This  work  has  some  of  the  great  qualities  of  serious  literature  —  single  in  purpose,  deep 
in  study  of  motive  and  passion. 

THE  WOMAN  ERRANT 

Being  Some  Chapters  from  the  Wonder  Book  of  Barbara 
By  the  author  of  "  The  Garden  of  a  Commuter's  Wife,"  etc. 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  WILL  GREFE 
Cloth  i2mo  $1.50 

••This  clear-visioned  writer,  calmly  surveying  life  from  the  wholesome  vantage  ground 
of  a  modest,  contented  suburban  home,  is  not  merely  entertaining  each  year  a  growing 
number  of  appreciative  readers,  but  she  is  inculcating  in  her  own  incisive  way  much  of 
that  same  wise  and  simple  philosophy  of  life  that  forms  the  enduring  charm  of  the  essays 
of  Charles  Wagner."  —  New  York  Globe. 


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BARNES  —  THE  UNPARDONABLE  WAX.  By  JAMES  BARNES,  author  of  "  Yankee  Ships 
and  Yankee  Sailors,"  "  Drake  and  his  Yeomen,"  etc. 

A  queer  turn  in  the  political  game;  a  clever  scheme  in  Newspaper  Row;  a  perfectly 
plausible  invention ;  these  are  a  few  of  the  elements  of  interest  in  this  absorbing  story. 

DAVIS  —  FALAISE  OF  THE  BLESSED  VOICE:  A  Tale  of  the  Youth  of  St.  Louis,  King  of 
France.  By  WILLIAM  STEARNS  DAVIS,  author  of  "A  Friend  of  Caesar,"  "God 
Wills  It."  etc. 

A  quick-moving,  interesting  tale  of  the  development  of  the  young  King  Louis  IX  of 
France  under  the  stress  of  a  great  crisis. 

DEEPING— LOVE  AMONG  THE  Rums.    By  WARWICK  DEEPING,  author  of  "  Uther  and 
Igraine."    With  illustrations  by  W.  Benda. 
"A  vigorous  story  .  .  .  told  in  the  spirit  of  pure  romance." 

—  New  York  Evening  Post. 

HOUSMAN  —  SABRINA  WARHAM:  The  Story  of  Her  Youth.  By  LAURENCE  HOUSMAN, 
author  of*  Gods  and  Their  Makers,"  etc. 

A  fascinating  study  of  a  woman's  youth  in  one  of  the  coast  counties  of  England,  a 
carefully  drawn  picture  of  ever  interesting  human  types. 

LOVETT— RICHARD  GRESHAM.    By  ROBERT  MORSS  LOVETT. 

*'  Goes  forward  determinedly  from  a  singular  opening  to  an  unsuspected  close,  with- 
out  faltering  or  wavering  .  •  .  a  very  honest  piece  of  workmanship." 

—  Neva  York  Evening  Post. 

LUTHER  — THE  MASTERY.  By  MARK  LEE  LUTHER,  author  of  "The  Henchman," 
"  The  Favor  of  Princes,"  etc. 

A  vigorous  and  convincing  story  of  modern  practical  politics,  so  notably  strong  in 
its  sense  of  reality  as  to  give  the  reader  the  thrill  of  a  privileged  glimpse  into  the 
mysteries  of  the  one  great  game. 

OVBRTOlf  —  CAPTAINS  OF  THE  WORLD.  By  GWENDOLEN  OVERTON,  author  of  "Anne 
Carmel,"  "  The  Heritage  of  Unrest,"  etc. 

An  unusually  fascinating  book  .  .  .  has  the  double  attractive  power  of  earnestness 
and  a  subject  which  compels  sympathetic  attention. 

POTTER— THE  FLAME  GATHERERS.     By  MARGARET  HORTON  POTTER,  author  of 
"  Istar  of  Babylon,"  etc. 
"A  wonderful  romance  of  intensity  and  color."  —  Book  Newt. 

SINCLAIR  — MANASSAS.  By  UPTON  SINCLAIR,  author  of  "Springtime  and  Harvest," 
etc. 

"  In  no  single  volume  which  we  can  call  to  mind  have  the  undercurrents  of  feeling, 
so  intense  and  so  varied,  that  swayed  men's  minds  in  those  troublous  times,  been  so 
fully  and  well  portrayed."—  The  Times  Dispatch  (Richmond). 

WEBSTER  — TRAITOR  AND  LOYALIST:  Or,  The  Man  who  Found  his  Country.  By 
HENRY  KITCHELL  WEBSTER,  author  of"  Roger  Drake:  Captain  of  Industry,'  "  The 
Banker  and  the  Bear,"  etc.  With  illustrations  by  Joseph  Cummings  Chase. 

Mr.  Webster's  new  romance  is  one  in  which  love  and  war  contribute  a  full  quota 
of  interest,  intrigue,  thrilling  suspense,  and  hairbreadth  escapes. 


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IfM        Tr*.i     • 

w^_ 

xsflprs/HJ 
REC'D  LD 

APR  15  1957 

6%'57Cfl 

Rt7rrr>  -  p 

• 

LD  21-100m-6,'56 
(B9311slO)476 

General  Library 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 

